


Adaptation

by tnethereal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, Bacta (Star Wars), Brotherly Love, Character Death, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Rebellion (Star Wars), Clones, Drama, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Major Original Character(s), Order 66 (Star Wars), Other, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars Prequel Trilogy & Pre-Star Wars: Original Trilogy, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars & Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Revenge, Sacrifice, Slow Burn, Space Battles, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic References, Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 118,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnethereal/pseuds/tnethereal
Summary: In the aftermath of the tumultuous Clone Wars, a surviving squad of clone troopers with extracted inhibitor chips and a lone Jedi Knight struggle to survive and find purpose in a galaxy that has left them behind. All the while, sinister forces work in the shadows that threaten them all.Mix of OC and established characters. Slow burn. First work!!
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano/Original Character(s), CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex & CC-3636 | Wolffe, CT-7567 | Rex & Original Character(s), CT-7567 | Rex & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CT-7567 | Rex & Original Jedi Character(s), CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, No Romantic Relationship(s), Plo Koon & Original Jedi Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. For the Republic

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Star Wars fic, after reading them for years. I love the community and have been wanting to write this story for quite a while now. After spending a few weeks meticulously planning out details and getting things lined up correctly, I considered taking a crack at it. I will say now, I understand that many Fics involve romance, I'm focusing more on a character drama than pairings. Just getting that out there now. Romance will be in this story, but it won't be the main focus! I also am aware that some people are skeptical of OC and prefer established characters. I often feel the same way. However, to tell the story I want to tell, I really felt the need to use more original characters. Star Wars is a huge universe full of crazy and colorful people. I am going to do my best to make them as believable as possible. The canon characters do come! Chapter 7 to be exact.

**Introduction**

_“I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us. But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions.” \- Captain Rex_

* * * * 

While the Republic and the Separatists did battle on multiple fronts across the Outer Rim following the Battle of Coruscant, the weight of an exhausting war was threatening to crush any hopes of a unified galaxy. The millions, billions, who died in this war had become meaningless, collateral damage to the ultimate plan. The soldiers on both sides were pawns sent to slaughter. For the droids and the clones were both manufactured. Factories and laboratories were their home, born and raised, built and bred, sewn up and screwed together. They were, in the eyes of the galaxy, not too different from one another. They had one purpose, and one purpose only. War. 

One such detachment of Republic armed forces traveled to their final wartime destination in the days that followed General Grievous’ blitzkrieg hit and run on Coruscant. Seemingly hours before Grievous’ inevitable defeat on Utapau, the 404th Battalion made haste to the nearest hyperspace lane bound for Quermia, a sparsely populated Outer Rim world that served as one of the last Separatist held planetoids in the galaxy. Their target? The swift killing of a droid commander to force a retreat and capture the planet. With the end of the war in sight, the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic fought on till their last breath, even if in the end, it was all for nothing. 

**First Iteration**

**I**

* * * * 

En route to Quermia -- 19 BBY 

Two hours to Zero Hour

Dazzling star systems dressed in radiant blue bathed the bridge of the _Prosecutor_ with the glow of a hundred solar bodies a minute. The hyperspace tunnel from the Mid Rim to Quermia was denser than most, wading through a muck of corporate holdouts and spice colonies en route to the far Outer Rim. The destination of the _Prosecutor_ and three of its sister Venator-class Star Destroyers was soon approaching, perhaps just under an hour away. 

On the bridge of the _Prosecutor_ , huddled around a holomap, stood three figures. Fitted in wildly different attire from each other, they each represented a party invested in the war. 

Their conflict in devising an attack strategy would come as no surprise either, given the different outlooks and strategy that intersected their individual trains of thought. 

One such outlook came from a woman dressed in the dull, uninspiring grays of Republic Admiralty, musing over the table with a simple stroke of her chin after lambasting the others. Another came from the robes of a youthful Jedi Knight, perhaps no older than twenty, hands conjoined at his waist, deeply focused on the task at hand. The final opinion came from the white and green plastoid armor of a trooper, holding his helmet at the waist, it was scratched and weary, adorned with dents, blaster scuffs, and the ranked symbol of commander. If the armor could speak, it would simply cry out for a respite from the conflict. 

They all were battle hardened, they all had seen the horrors that the Clone Wars had wrought upon the galaxy. Yet despite it all, they never wavered from their views, their core values, or their strategies on winning a battle. 

Their silence was only permeated by the eventual motion of the Jedi, pointing to the holomap laid out on the table before them, an atmospheric diagram of Quermia with positioned Separatist ships. 

“With our recent scouting reports showing gaps in their defenses, it would be far too easy to slip between them when we come out of hyperspace,” the Jedi noted. 

“So….” the Admiral began, “you’re suggesting I bring four capital ships out of hyperspace directly into the upper atmosphere? Behind an enemy line?” 

“Precisely.” 

“I don’t like this, honestly,” she retorted. “Too much pressure on our hull parked in the thermosphere like that for too long. Quermia’s atmosphere is a heat bath.” 

“The Seps won’t be expecting an attack on the undersides of their battleships, allowing us to target their shields and weapons with greater ease, while providing cover fire for ground assault teams to nab the droid commander here,” the Jedi expanded the map to what was presumably the capital city, pointing out a large palace centered within. “As soon as he drops, the remaining Separatist ships should pull away without a ground leader, and we can move the ships up into the exosphere.” 

The clone commander, having watched their debate earnestly, finally spoke up. 

“General, you said the Separatist fleet at Quermia was mostly pulled away to fight at Coruscant, and the remaining ships are stragglers?” 

“Yes. The ships that pulled away to Coruscant never returned back, according to our scouts.” 

“That leaves how many ships in orbit then?” 

“Four.” 

“Seems pretty even to me, four on four. What say you, Admiral?” The clone turned to the other superior before him. 

She remained silent for a moment, watching the flickering holomaps transition from atmosphere to battlefield, while the entrancing tunnel of star systems in the hyperspace lane illuminated the air around her in a sparkling blue. 

“What if reinforcements arrive from another system?” She asked. 

The Jedi cleared his throat before continuing. 

“They won’t.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“The Force is with us on this mission, Admiral. The pieces have lined up well for us, and I don’t expect any further resistance from the Separatists. Our gunships will land before they know what hit them.” 

She winced a bit upon hearing “the Force,” but pressed on nonetheless. 

“Where was it you went to military academy again, Jedi?” She questioned, albeit harshly. Her interrogee was set to reply, but was interrupted by a nearby officer calling over. 

“If I may interrupt for a moment, we’ll be approaching Quermian space in thirty-five minutes.” 

“That’s my cue, I need to get down to the hangar bay,” the Jedi looked to the Admiral for a moment, waiting for her acceptance. “Is this a go?” 

She shook her head a bit, biting her inner lip before conceding with a few rapid blinks. 

“I suppose I don’t have much choice at this point.” She waved her hand in acceptance. “But if we suffer heavy losses, they’re on _your_ back, Kara,” she muttered. 

“Relax, Admiral. Everything will be as it should.” He offered her a half-smile before turning towards a turbolift to the hangar. The commander turned back to his only remaining superior. 

“Trust him, Admiral.. He got us out of a sticky situation on Jabiim.” 

“He’s nearly as reckless as Skywalker. He’s young. He’s arrogant like the rest of them. He thinks The Force will save him; he doesn’t use his head. That’s no way to win a battle.” 

“If I may speak freely sir, we have not lost a battle under him.” 

“He has only been in the lead position for one battle. He was promoted on a whim.” She paused, narrowing her eyes in thought. “I have led sixty-four missions in this war. Sixty-four, commander. You learn from experience, not mysticism,” she spat. 

The commander didn’t speak. She continued. 

“We win battles because of brave soldiers and competent leaders such as yourself, Pike.” She shook her head, turning to return to her favored spot at the precipice of the bridge, hands together behind her back. 

Her head tilted to the side for a final word. 

“I don’t place my faith in a cult of mystics. I place my faith in those in uniform.” The Admiral’s watchful eyes returned to the hyperspace tunnel. 

Pike simply nodded, grasping his helmet firmly, before following his general to the turbolift. 

* * * *

Twenty decks below the bridge, was a congregation of clones flooding the corridors towards the main hangar. Their white and green Phase II armor was scuffed, heavily worn in, and showed signs of weariness. The clones wearing them, however, did not. 

Two troopers, near the back of the crowd, paced together, enjoying each other’s company for a fleeting moment amidst the hubbub. 

“They’re saying the war could be over soon. What do you make o’that, Fix?” One asked, a small scar entrenched across the left side of his lip. 

“If we take Quermia, I think they’d be right. Can’t think of many systems left to take, honestly.” The one called Fix boasted two different eye colors, hazel and green. Perhaps a genetic mixup in the labs. 

A voice called out from behind them. 

“Fix! Tandem! Hold up.” It was Pike. 

The troopers turned, making way for Pike’s timely arrival between them. 

“Well Commander, is this it? Is this the one?” Fix asked. Tandem chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Can’t say for sure boys, just know we’re almost there. I just know it. The General seems to know it too, he’s ready for this one.” The commander appeared hesitant, but a smile of optimism tugged at the edges of his mouth. He was ready for the war to be over just as much as those under his command. They had all endured far too much, for far too long. The barrage of reciprocating fire from super battle droids would fill their nightmares for years to come. 

“I could use a good drink or two when this is over,” Tandem commented, a silent thirst washing over his demeanor. 

“No way. Last time you had a ‘drink or two,’ you and Chuckles ended up unconscious under a table in the club district on Coruscant,” Pike answered. 

“C’mon commander, the whole 404th knows that alcohol is our existential calling. It’s just meant to be.” 

Fix let out a laugh, while Pike just shook his head. 

They continued on, approaching the hangar bay, as overhead speakers threatened to interrupt them. 

_“All remaining troopers from the Yerbana campaign and/or Coruscant defense who have not been examined, please report to medical bays five or six on deck eight for clinical evaluation as soon as possible.”_

“What’s the plan?” Fix shot over to the commander. 

“It’ll be detailed in the bay, c’mon. Only a half hour now.” 

* * * * 

In the _Prosecutor_ ’s fitness lounge, down the hall from the hangar bay, a lone clone trooper was laying hits into a punching bag. His shirt and gear lay on a nearby bench, and sweat beads carved trails down his bronzed body, pausing to overcome a handful of scars peppered across his torso. 

The day was already long, but for him, it had just begun. 

Another entered the room, two horizontal lines of tattooed ink were carved around his neck. 

“Dynamo, let’s get moving, grab your gear. Pre-flight in five.” 

“Yeah, one sec. I really got ‘em this time.” Dynamo called back, his punches growing heavier as he ducked and swung into the side of the bag, a solid blow. He wiped the sweat from his brow and dropped his gloves to the floor before throwing his shirt back on. He was hastily attempting to slide into his gear while still covered in perspiration. 

The other clone smirked, watching him struggle for a moment. 

“Need some help there Dy? We all know it’s a bit of struggle to slip the gear around that lively manhood of yours.” 

“Shut it up, Chuckles, I got it!” Dynamo’s temper flared as laughter from his counterpart followed. The latter soon clamored out of the fitness lounge, trailing Chuckles towards the hangar bay. 

* * * * 

Across the hangar from the gathering of clones awaiting a briefing, was the entrance to a side weapons locker. Emerging were two clones, one in scouting greens, the other in a captain’s uniform, with a modified Phase I helmet and plating. 

Heavily armed, they traded quips as they observed a growing number of clones entering the hangar. 

“What are your odds on this one, cap?” The clone in scouting garb asked, hoisting a modified DC-15 rifle onto a nearby gearbox for examination. 

“Four to one we take it,” came the reply, the Captain was cleaning his pistol and counting the thermal detonators in his bandolier. “Three to one in less than an hour.” 

“How’s the General looking?” 

“From here?” The Captain paused, peering across the flight deck to a baby-faced man in brown robes, ushering the clones to assemble around him. The shadow of a LAAT gunship loomed over the crowd. “Seems a little on edge, why?” 

“Heard from Pike yesterday that the admiral didn’t like this plan he was proposing. Said it was gonna get us all killed.” 

“If we die, it’ll be for the Republic. Try not to worry what the admiral says, she doesn’t see it from our point of view.” 

“Touché.” Karma locked a scope into place on his rifle and grabbed a lonely bandolier nearby, armed with mines and thermals. 

“After Jabiim, I’d put my life in the General’s hands any day,” Karma continued, his superior joining him as they began to approach the briefing across the deck. 

“So would I, Karma,” the Captain gave him a pat on the shoulder, as the gunship’s shadow soon enveloped them as well. “So would I.” 

* * * *

“Alright, listen up!” 

Jedi General Orren Kara was never one to shout, but when the situation demanded it, he made himself heard. His voice was a mid-low octave, loud enough to fill the hangar and deep enough to fill attention spans with its baritone gravitas. 

The clones gathered tightly together as the final troops streamed into the LAAT compartments. 

The shields protecting each hangar compartment were down, but upon arrival, their familiar blue zing would resonate through the bay to protect mechanics and pilots alike from hard space during hangar opening. 

Commander Pike, Fix, and Tandem gently elbowed their way to the middle of the pack. Dynamo and Chuckles hurried in the doors to join the far rear of the platoon. Karma and his accompanying captain arrived on the outskirts from across the hangar. 

Orren continued onward. 

“In just twenty-five minutes, we will be dropping out of hyperspace, emerging past a Separatist fleet, into the upper atmosphere of Quermia.” 

Some low talk emerged from the crowd, but was quickly silenced. 

“Listen. I know some of you may have your reservations about this mission. About this being only my second command. You’ve heard whispers. Rumors. As you all know well, we’ve fought together for two years, while the 404th was part of an auxiliary unit to my master’s 104th battalion. I assumed command at Jabiim, given our fondness of each other,” he flashed a smile before continuing. 

“I can promise you, I won’t let any of you down.” He looked around at them for a moment, eyeing their expressions. 

His master, Plo Koon, commanded the 104th, commonly known around clone commons as the “Wolf Pack” battalion. Led by Commander Wolffe, they had shown their skills at notable battles on Felucia and Kadavo. The 404th worked jointly with them on several endeavors. 

That is, until Orren took over as a General. The troopers of his battalion had become a family to the young man that had only known loneliness in the Jedi Temple. 

Orren continued, “however, some of you may be elated, as you also may have heard rumors that the war could be over any week now.” He sighed. 

“But I’m telling you now, the war ends when General Grievous is destroyed, and the Separatist Council is captured. I have spoken with our counterparts at the 212th, and they assure me that General Kenobi has indeed engaged General Grievous.” 

The clones erupted into cheers, some raising their fists, others raising their rifles. Claps ensued. 

“Now, this means that if General Kenobi can pull this off, then we are about to enter what could be one of the final battles of this long war.” Orren's hands joined together in focus. 

“We are essentially conducting a rapid raid on this planet. We sneak in past their formation, our ships open fire on their cruisers, and cover for the ground teams.” 

He paused, removing a small holo projector from his robe pocket. He placed it out in front of him, turning it on to reveal a terrain map of the Quermian capital city. 

“We’re taking six gunships down to the surface. We have pinpointed the sites of potential AA fire and will concentrate on landing just beyond the capital’s perimeter.” He pointed to the main gates of the city. 

“Blaze Squad, our rocket troopers, will set up mortar entrenchments and knock down the main gates.” He gestured over to a small contingency of heavily armored troopers to his left, they signaled in affirmative. 

“The rest of the platoon will charge the gates, surging into the market district, making a point to immediately move into the royal district and capture the palace grounds. From there, two squads suppress outside fire, while the rest move into the palace and eliminate the droid commander.” 

He turned off the holo projector, taking a moment to examine the faces of the soldiers before him. 

“I will be leading Tempest Squad and Gale Squad, as we did on Jabiim, for further reinforcement. Captain Noble, Sergeant Stax, and I will push in first.” 

This drew a bit of chatter from the clones as well. 

“Make that five to one,” Captain Noble elbowed Karma, a cheeky grin forming. 

“Under an hour?” Karma whispered back. 

“All depends on your shooting, Lieutenant,” came the reply. 

“Pre-flight begins in two minutes, grab your essential gear, find your captain and squad, and prepare to board your assigned gunships,” Orren said. 

“Sir!” One clone had a question. 

“What is it, Nox?” 

“You said we’d be dropping out of hyperspace _into_ the atmosphere?” 

“I did.” 

“We’ve never launched within the atmosphere before sir, usually the gunships need a bit of warming up before they take those temperatures.” 

“The gunships can handle the temperature, Quermia has a thin thermosphere, we won’t be lingering very long. Just be ready for a bumpy ride.” Orren paused. 

“Trust me on this one. We’re going to take it,” he offered a smile as a gesture of reassurance. 

“Sir, yes sir.” An echo of replies returned to him. 

The clones were good soldiers, and even better people. They saw only loyalty and fighting for a just, righteous cause. Some of them, however, appeared a bit apprehensive, standing alone as the platoon began to swarm around them in all directions, crying out orders and relaying wise-cracks. 

Chuckles, while normally one to toss said wise-cracks around before a battle, stood by himself in the swarm of troopers, looking uneasy, almost lost. His heart was racing. 

The potential of the war ending made their nerves tense. What were they to do? What _could_ they do? Another question perhaps, for a different time. But this time was for the battle, and they soon came back to reality, joining their squads and fixing their helmets to their heads. 

Chuckles eventually joined them. 

In hangar compartment four, Fix was dropping to the floor, laying back on a mechanic’s creeper to wheel himself under the hull of his LAAT. A few clones passed by, giving him a friendly kick in the shin. 

“Good luck down there Fix.” 

“Fly straight and maybe we won’t run into each other this time buddy.” 

Fix could only nervously laugh, drawing a spanner to a small compartment near the starboard ion relay. Popping open the box, he brought the spanner to his mouth, holding it steady between his lips while another voice cried out to him. This voice he knew far better than most. 

“How we lookin’ down there, Fix?” 

Fix mumbled a reply, vocals muffled by the spanner in his mouth. 

“Just beautiful. Already retrofitted for spaceflight, repaired from our last mission. One last touch up and she’ll be good as new.” He took the spanner back to the job at hand, eyeing a pair of boots in front of him. 

“You need any help? Launch is in fourteen,” Karma said. 

“Yeah, actually. Grab an ion coil from my tool cart and toss it down here.” 

Within about five seconds, Fix felt the intimate form of an ion coil rolling into his hand. He pulled out the old one and replaced it, connecting the wires in under a minute. 

“She good to fly?” Karma asked. 

“Yeah, blaster fire from the clankers on Jabiim really tore her chassis up. She’ll be alright though. Coil is fresh so the engines should be manifesting pretty cleanly.” 

“One day I’ll have to have you teach me how to fix one of these things,” Karma laughed. 

“When the war is over, I’ll have the time.” 

Karma paused, hesitant to ask, hoisting his rifle over his shoulder. 

“You got any plans for after this is all over, Fix?” 

“Come to think of it..” Fix rolled his wheeled creeper out from under the gunship, wiping his hands and replacing bare skin with plastoid gloves, “Yeah, actually. I do. I’d love to work on ships like this for a living.” He offered a simple shrug. “It’s what I do best.” 

He was right, none of the other troopers in his platoon had much interest in repairing, while he often sat up in the mess at night reading technical manuals. When the other gunships blew, the captains requested new ones. Fix simply kept his running. 

“I’ll be sure to keep you in mind for whenever my speeder breaks down,” Karma returned a smile. 

“What about you, Karma?” 

“Haven’t given much thought to it honestly. But every time we’re on Coruscant, seeing those busy skylanes, speeders full of families. I dunno…. They seem to have it made, I guess.” 

“Who, the families?” 

“Yeah,” Karma answered. 

“I guess you’re right. We were never trained on how to start one.” 

“Maybe you can write a manual on it like you do everything else.” 

Fix gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. 

“Maybe.” 

* * * * 

In an adjacent hangar compartment, Captain Noble approached the members of Tempest Squad, eager to get underway. 

“How we lookin’ over here, sergeant?” Noble called out. 

Most of the squad turned to salute him. 

“Sir!” 

Their squad leader was the final to turn around. Sergeant Stax. A square and stocky veteran of both battles of Geonosis, Stax’s affinity for droid-busting was hotter than a lava pit on Mustafar. He balanced Noble’s collected attitude with a bit of a rambunctious one. 

“Ready to go over here. Who’s carrying the General for round two?" The grin came a few moments after. 

“We took him down to Jabiim, I imagine you’d love to accommodate him this time,” Noble winked to the other captain. 

Stax nodded, grabbing his helmet. 

“Alright then, I’ll be sure to let him know. I’m sure he’s very eager to ride with his next taxi service.” He motioned to his squad with a laugh. “Let’s get moving boys, showtime’s in ten!” 

Stax’s squad obliged, grabbing their helmets and loading their gear onto the gunship. 

Copy, Ty, and Sash. Three out of the four that followed Stax. One was always trailing behind. The one that was always caught up chatting with Gale Squad. The amicable one. 

Karma. 

A few moments later, Karma came blitzing into the compartment, fixing his helmet onto his head. 

“Sorry I’m late, Sarge.” He shot across to Stax, offering his superior a salute, before giving Noble a nod as he passed. 

“What else is new? Get up here, let’s go Karma.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Orren entered the compartment not long after, glancing at Noble. 

“Captain, I believe your squad is.. awaiting your command.” The deadpan went a bit over Noble’s head. 

“Oh, right, sorry sir! Was just coordinating your escort.” 

The Jedi smiled. 

“I’m sure Sergeant Stax will take fine care of me this time, I’ll see you down there.” 

“See you down there, General.” 

Noble passed through the bay doors into the adjacent compartment, where Dynamo, Tandem, Chuckles, and Fix were lining up to inspect each other’s gear. 

“Troopers!” The Captain cried. 

“Sir!” 

“Are we ready to take some clankers’ heads off today?” 

“Sir, yes sir!” 

Noble couldn’t help but beam. His squad had fought tirelessly alongside him from Christophsis to Cato Neimoida and everywhere in between. Three years of war, bloodshed, exhaustion, all of it could be ending soon. 

Those faces he would never forget. 

Dynamo, Tandem, Chuckles, and Fix. They weren’t perfect by a longshot. But they were his troopers. His brothers. His _family_. 

Sometimes, he longed for Karma to join Gale Squad. But his home was with the Tempests, their co-squad. 

A typical clone squad would consist of nine or ten troopers, but the Gales and Tempests garnered such a keen reputation for precision work, that they split into co-squads under two captains for better coordination. While they normally shared a gunship, for better odds this go-around, Noble and Stax opted to split, like they did on Jabiim. 

Watching his men load up the gunship, he could see it in their faces. The future after the war was on the minds of many of the 404th. 

Right now, Captain Noble was focused on the mission at hand. Quermia. 

“Alright boys, wings up in five, let’s move! Pile on.” The squad eagerly obeyed, and Noble followed suit, clamoring aboard the side, gripping a horizontal handrail above, as Fix took to the cockpit. 

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Fix murmured, switching on the LAAT’s reverberating engines and boosting power to the inertial dampeners. “Looks like that new ion coil worked like a charm.” 

The ship rumbled awake, after lying fast asleep following its last excursion. The sublight engines flared, casting a dizzying light show across the steel compartment. 

Fix opened the communications channel. A steely, static voice echoed through. 

“ _Prosecutor_ Control to assault teams. Gunships, you are clear to depart in two minutes, mark.” 

“This really the last one, Captain?” Chuckles asked, as the gunship doors glided to a lock shut. 

“Can’t say for sure. Hoping so, honestly,” the Captain answered. 

The gunship creaked for a moment as the upper exhaust ports and inertial boost chambers came online. The ensuing roar of the gunship became cacophonous. 

“Damn. You think the clankers hate my jokes that much Cap?” Chuckles called out. 

Tandem muffled a laugh. 

“Alright Chuckles, let’s wait till we hit terrain before we start quipping, yeah?” The Captain cried over the engines while Chuckles acknowledged him. 

Fix looked back to his squad. “Vacuum seal is locked. Should be coming out of hyperspace any second now.” 

“ _Prosecutor_ Control to assault teams. Gunships, you are clear to depart in one minute, mark.” 

Fix moved his hands to the lift controls and throttle boosters, securing his helmet in finality. Typically he’d rely on a flight computer to do the heavy lifting. This time, he was flying manual. 

His thumb grazed the throttle, tensing a bit. 

In the troop hold, Noble looked to his squad for a concluding moment before departure. 

“One last time. What do we say boys?” 

Their reply came in unison, as always. 

“For the Republic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this or continue reading, and have constructive criticism or general thoughts, please don't hesitate to share! Comments are hugely appreciated!


	2. Quermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle gets underway as Zero Hour looms.

**II**

* * * * 

Quermia 

Ninety minutes to Zero Hour 

The bridge of the _Prosecutor_ was an organized chaos. 

Republic officers and crew were rushing about from station to station, communicating with other ships, relaying tactical coordinates and vital strategic information. 

Alone at the end of the bridge, standing before the expansive command windows was the admiral herself, awaiting arrival. 

An officer spoke up. Lieutenant Mahfe. New to the _Prosecutor_ , he had quickly gained the favor of the Admiral. 

“Admiral. We’re coming out of hyperspace in two minutes.” 

She remained motionless, deep in thought. 

The chatter and movement increased on the bridge, while she remained affixed in her position, like a statue through the eons. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by the hyperspace alarm. Her eyes snapped to reality, her consciousness retained its typical sense of alertness. 

“One minute, admiral.” 

Without turning, she began doing what she did best. 

“Shields?” 

“Shields are a go, admiral.” 

“Weapons one through four?” 

“All a go, sir.” 

“Hull integrity?” 

“Standing at one-hundred.” 

“Med-bays?” 

“Primed and ready.” 

“Assault teams?” Her thoughts jumped to the Jedi and his team of troopers down in the hangar. 

“Assault teams are ready. Relaying launch now,” Mahfe called back. 

“You would make a fine captain someday, Lieutenant,” the Admiral said. 

“Just doing my job, sir,” came the reply. 

“I would strongly recommend you consider it,” she implored. 

“I’ll see what I can do, sir, but we’re coming out of hyperspace now.” Mahfe gave an awkward nod before returning to his duties. 

She acknowledged him in affirmative, hand reaching for the wide array of controls on the panels before her. She held a single green button, announcing shipwide. 

“This is Admiral Vantu, all hands, prepare for turbulence.” She released the button and stood her ground, preparing for the onslaught. 

“Coming out of hyperspace in five, four….” 

_Maybe, just maybe, the Jedi was right. Maybe this will all go as it should._ But then her realism returned, and she pushed the thought away. She took a deep breath. 

“....three, two, one.” 

The elongated star systems of the hyperspace tunnel dissipated, and the cloud-covered northern hemisphere of Quermia emerged into view on the bridge. 

Within a second, the view was spoiled by the scalding temperatures of the planet’s thermosphere licking at the windows of the _Prosecutor_ and her sister ships. Flames roared against the hull, and the inertial compressors on decks two through four struggled to keep up with the sudden change in pressure. The ship lurched to the side for a moment, while the jostling crew hustled on. 

The Admiral took to action. 

“Call the assault teams, get them down there. We don’t have much time.” 

* * * *

In the hangar bay, the assault teams were lighting up their engines. Fix remained focused on the comms channel. 

“This is General Kara to assault teams. May the Force be with us all.” 

He was followed by the bridge control. 

“ _Prosecutor_ Control to assault teams. Gunships, you are clear to depart in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five….” 

Tandem nudged Chuckles with a smirk, “better hold onto something.” 

“....four, three, two, one. Mark.” 

Fix’s throttle hand surged forward on the handle. The engines lit up in response. 

The shields around the gunship compartment appeared in an instant, as the hangar bay door atop the Venator rumbled open, revealing open space above, and the flames of the hull against the atmosphere. 

In the gunships, the troopers held onto handrails as the _Prosecutor_ buckled against the pressure of Quermia’s atmosphere, before it all went calm. Each of the six gunships lifted from their compartments and upwards toward the hangar door. 

“Get ready back there! This won’t be a Sunday drive on Coruscant,” Fix called back. 

“You assume I drive normally?” Chuckles returned. 

The gunships emerged from the _Prosecutor_ ’s hangar far closer than normal to the planet’s surface. Perhaps only two-hundred klicks of a drop. 

This wasn’t what they trained for on Kamino, but nevertheless, it was what they were called to do. 

Upon entering Quermia’s atmosphere, the heat unleashed hell upon the gunships, buffeting them with wave after wave of engulfing fireballs. 

Fix kept it as steady as he could, as his hands began to twitch. He pushed the throttle to near maximum, and the LAAT’s sublight engines groaned in response, pushing them to four-hundred klicks an hour. The bobblehead of a Twi’lek dancer on Fix’s gunship dash was having the time of its life. They would be gaining the first one-hundred klicks in only a matter of minutes. 

The sleek frame of the retrofitted LAAT glided through the thermosphere, but inside, the troopers were having a tough time. 

“Where the hell--..” Noble nearly fell, and had to regain his balance from a ship jolt, “--..are your dampeners, Fix!” 

“They’re uh.. they’re working just fine sir,” came the reply from the cockpit. 

“Then why are we like ragdolls back here?” Dynamo called. 

“The dampeners are the only things separating breathing clones from toasted clones! They aren’t made for this. Shut your yap, Dy, I’m trying to focus.” His hands never left the throttle and inertial controls, dual-color eyes resting cleanly upon the surface of Quermia. 

The six gunships soaring down into the mesosphere appeared as six immaculately aligned meteors rocketing planetside, with only fifty klicks to go. 

Residents in the capital city far below emerged from their homes, hearing sonic booms in the atmosphere above, witnessing their potential saviors descending like angels from the empty vacuum of space. Their contrails dug across the sky, leaving parallel white plumes of engine exhaust. 

Soon, the fleet of four Venators above grew smaller and smaller as they turned on their axis to combat the enemy. Within minutes, the tops of Quermia’s thunderclouds blocked any view of them whatsoever. 

“I can make out the city, I think!” Fix cried, never once turning back to his squadmates, they were entering the stratosphere and rocketing towards completion. 

As the thick deck of high-level thunderheads seemingly gave way to endless green terrain and forest canopies, the capital city of Qulara came into view. A static grid sprawled around a river system, the tiny street network resembled a maze of tunnels from thirty klicks up, with the spaceport appearing like a bullseye in the lower left quadrant. The landing site, outside the city, soon became visible. 

“Twenty-five klicks, dropping fast boys. Our trip through hell should be winding down soon!” Fix said again, trying to reassure the troopers in the back, who resorted to kneeling down to avoid being thrown across the interior. 

He had spoken too soon, forgetting about the pre-flight warning. A few bursts of light erupted from the capital. 

Startling Fix, was a cloud of black smoke a klick ahead. Then another. And another. Moments passed and a fury of smoky flak was exploding like an aerial minefield, displacing air particulates and cloud matter, sending a few gunships slightly off course. 

The AA fire from the capital became relentless, and while the LAATs continued to descend on, some opted for a path offering less resistance, careening into nearby rainclouds for cover, emerging as rain-soaked vehicles. 

A grainy voice could be heard through the communications channel. 

“Stay on course. We’ll make it down there.” The General seemed unfazed at the events unfolding. 

“What, is he blind? We need to take evasive!” Fix shouted to himself, before calling back to the others. “Hold onto something!” With that, his left hand seized the piloting stick and threw the gunship to the port side, diving into a nearby rainstorm. The crew was lurched, gripping their handrails in apprehension. 

Rain pellets shored up on the LAAT’s windshield, streaking the battered glass with moisture and condensation. 

“Should’ve installed some wipers, eh Fix?” Chuckles called, before being tossed again from another sudden movement from the pilot, black anti-aircraft particles plastering the ship with metal scrap. 

“Better start thanking the Seps for using outdated AA technology, otherwise we’d be painting the side of a mountain right now.” Fix said, yanking hard again to starboard to avoid another incoming round of flak. 

“Where’d you learn to fly again Fix!?” Tandem shouted. 

“Same place you learned to shoot, wise-ass!” Came the reply, a bit strained, as they took another near-miss. 

A muffled voice over the comms came through, shouting something unintelligible for a moment before it cleared up. 

“We’re hit! Charting downwards towards the city, not looking good. Gunship Six!” 

“Trooper, keep her steady. Try to put her down in a plaza or park. We will come for you,” Orren’s voice, as melodic as it seemed in the moment, didn’t help to put Fix’s nerves to rest as they approached the ten-klick mark. 

He looked over to his portside window and saw the flaming trails of debris emanating from Gunship Six, leaving a fiery ribbon of orange cloud matter in its wake as she plummeted downwards amidst a storm of black smoke, eventually out of sight. 

Fix glanced at his altimeter again. Eight klicks. 

This was going to be a long day. 

* * * * 

In the skies above Quermia’s greenscape, the _Prosecutor_ and her sister ships were banking on their axes, positioning to accommodate incoming fire. 

The sole Lucrehulk-class battleship, parked a few klicks above the Republic’s surprise attack line, was re-orbiting itself to shield the inner core ship from heavy fire. On the other hand, two Banking Clan frigates were coming around from the other side of the Lucrehulk, setting up to unleash turbolaser fire. 

On the bridge of the _Prosecutor_ , Admiral Vantu took the reins. 

“Lieutenant Mahfe, signal all batteries to begin angular fire on the frigate shield generators underneath, before they can re-orient.” 

The lieutenant obliged, and Vantu watched her command become reality within seconds. Green streams of turbolaser fire etched their way through the vacuum, with returning fire soon to follow. 

The other Venators began spooling up their gun batteries, and soon, turbolaser fire began to crisscross the empty space between both fleets, creating a lattice of particle beams and miniaturized explosions on the hulls of the combatants. 

Starfighters launched soon after from the Republic capital ships, facing the daunting task of emerging unscathed from the heat sink of a planet’s atmosphere to engage the oncoming wave of tri-fighters. 

The drive-glows of the starfighters punctuated the atmosphere like tiny fireflies on Felucia, while the ion drives of their parent ships caused a mirage of flames that obscured the view of enemy fighters coming down to meet them. 

Within minutes, the combined efforts of the Venators had disabled shields on one of the frigates, and bombers were launched to make quick work of their control tower and gunnery systems. 

It was like clockwork, and Admiral Vantu had learned it well. She had been exposed to nearly every strategy, combination of attack, weak point, maneuver, and feint shown at the Naval Academy on Coruscant. But her ten years at the academy only taught her the generic playbook. 

Being on the bridge of a star destroyer facing down an enemy fleet, time and time again, would do the rest. 

“Concentrate your fire on the second frigate. Our bombers will make short work of the first. Boost shields on the lower hull to counter the atmosphere,” Vantu remarked, her eyes fixated on the fireworks of battle waged just beyond the bridge, posture unwavering while her crew continued scrambling. 

To the innocent eye on Quermia, the battle being waged far above looked like an art display. Seemingly endless webs of turbolaser light-scatter, particle beams that tore through entire decks of cruisers, spiraling starfighter engines gyrating through the darkness and taunting opponents, they all contributed to the greater painting. 

The painting of war. 

* * * * 

The five remaining gunships were nearing the three-klick mark, and avoiding the worst of the AA batteries, they navigated to a small clearing outside the east gate of Qulara, hoping to cover themselves beneath the forest canopy. 

Upon setting the gunships down, the sliding doors unlocked, and the vacuums of sterilized oxygen rushed out into the humidity of Quermia, the gusts of wind nearly knocking a few troopers down as they filed out of their transports. 

Quermia was a quiet world, barely hosting a hundred thousand souls that once held allegiance to the Republic. It’s lush forests were ripe for exploration and resource-gathering, but the Separatists had seemingly no interest in doing either; they simply wanted to create thorns in the Republic’s side. 

Fix, upon leaving the gunship’s engines in a neutral state, removed the ignition stick and exited last, finding General Kara conversing with Stax and Noble just outside. 

“We need to get to Gunship Six now!” Stax exclaimed. 

“Patience, Sergeant. We need to breach the walls.” As the Jedi spoke, Blaze Squad was setting up mortar positions just over the ridge from the gunships, within sight of the main walls. 

“It looked quiet coming in. I don’t think they expected us or their garrison would be larger,” Fix interjected, trying to stave off a rant from Stax. 

“Good. Stax, is your marksman ready?” Orren inquired. 

“Yeah,” the Sergeant said plainly. “Karma! Get over here.” 

Karma hopped over, carrying his modified rifle over his shoulder. “Sir?” 

“Go up on that hill to your four o’clock, cover our entrance into the market, pick off stragglers or sidewinders.” 

“Yes sir.” Karma turned and hurried off to set up a roost. 

“Alright, let’s get the rest of the squads towards that gate,” Noble said, pointing westward towards the city. The order was carried out with haste, and within seconds of the first mortar rounds being fired, the remaining four squads pressed through the clearing towards the main road into Qulara. 

The reports from the mortar shots echoed through the trees, as the blasts chipped away at the frail, wooden gate. 

“Shouldn’t take them long, let’s move,” Orren insisted, tossing his robe into a nearby gunship before leading the push into the city. 

Another mortar report and the city gate was nearly in shambles. A few cries of terror from within the city sounded over the walls, but then fell silent. 

The third mortar report obliterated the shattered husk of the gate, causing it to snap in two and collapse. 

The platoon was greeted by a barrage of red bolts erupting through the broken entryway. The droids were attempting to seize the chokepoint and prevent their invasion. 

Two additional mortar rounds screamed through the sky towards the remnants of the gate, and the ensuing blast took care of the defenders quickly, leaving piles of scattered wires and broken metal limbs across the stone road. 

“Alright troopers, let’s push,” came Orren’s call. The troopers obliged and surged in through the gate, stepping around broken droid parts, splitting into their respective squads. 

“Tango, Hyper Squads, push into the market, secure the bridge over the river and get the fallen gunship some aid,” Orren instructed. “I’ll take Gale and Tempest towards the royal district.” 

A steady stream of dark smoke choked its way over the rooftops of the market. Gunship Six, perhaps, with its troopers in an unknown position. Tango and Hyper Squads set off down a nearby alleyway towards the crash. 

Turning towards their one o’clock, Orren and his accompanying squads examined the path to the royal district. A wide, median-infused boulevard with sprawling Quermian oak trees peppered along the edges, forming a shadowy yet enthralling green canopy over the thoroughfare. A few blazing market carts lined the median, presumably burned by the droid army’s lack of empathy. 

“It’s quiet sir. Where are the locals?” Dynamo asked the Jedi. 

“I’m not sure. I sense a great presence of life here.” He looked around, face plastered with a curious expression. “Let’s move,” he urged. 

They pushed down the boulevard, and the arcing span of a marble bridge approached, flanked by two alleyways parallel to the river. 

Before they had a chance to react, two droidekas rolled from either alleyway, flanked by a few squads of simple battle droids. 

“Cover, now!” Stax called. His troopers, Copy and Sash, ducked behind a cart. His other, Ty, was struck in the chest by a droid bolt. The blaster wound sighed as it melted through plastoid and skin and he shrunk to the ground, his eyes rolling backwards. 

“Dammit!” One trooper called out. Gale Squad fell back behind a mixed array of old produce vendors and silkware carts. 

They looked around for the General, and that’s when they heard it. The familiar sound of hope. 

An azure surge of energy rose from Orren’s hand. The device he gripped pulsed and held the flame in check. Stepping back a bit, his lightsaber deflected the repeating fire back to several of them, but the droidekas proved formidable. 

He leaned into his Form IV stance and drew on the Force to guide him, remembering a lesson from years past. 

_His master’s lightsaber flowed gracefully through the forms of defense, as it twisted and turned to intercept every blaster bolt. The training remote floated over their heads, bobbing up and down with each shot. It was precise, but so was Plo Koon._

_“You must remember, Orren, use the Force to guide your step. Feel it surge through you, use its power wisely and with precision. You will feel the shots as they come, you must dance with each bolt as if it were an intimate waltz.”_

_Master Plo powered down the remote, looking down to the young man before him._

_“But Master Plo, Form Four is an aggressive stance. It’s used to attack.”_

_Plo smiled. Much to learn, the padawan had._

_“A good defense is a strong offense, Orren. Utilize that which Master Kenobi has taught you. Embrace the key points of Soresu, and meld them into your defense. Then use Form Four for the rest. Blaster bolts are simple to deflect, but when it is repeating fire, you always want to be on the defensive,” Plo instructed._

_“What if I can’t block them all, Master? What if there are too many?” Orren inquired. The curious mind was never sated, and Master Plo only offered a chuckle._

_“You will know what to do when the time comes. The Force will be your guide. Rely on it. Trust in it. The Force will never lead you astray, Orren.”_

_“Yes, master,” the padawan bowed to his teacher and exited the training room, as the day grew shorter._

His Form IV technique altered and began to echo the hallmarks of Form III, Soresu. The defense put up by Orren was nigh impenetrable, but the droids had all day, and the Jedi only had so much energy to put forth. 

Coming to his assistance, was the ringing cry of a sniper bolt. Then a second. Each striking two droids in the head, incapacitating their systems. 

Up on the ridge overlooking the city, Karma recharged the rifle, his eye not leaving the enhanced scope before turning attention to the other squads in the market. 

“That’s our cue boys!” Noble said. Tandem and Dynamo wasted no time, emerging from their hiding spot and engaging the droids, carefully avoiding drawing too much attention from the droidekas. 

One by one they dropped while the Jedi was forced to take more steps back from the shielded destroyers. He began to consider a plan B, until two spherical orbs rolled between his feet down the path, slipping just behind the droidekas shields. 

Orren smirked, as the droidbusters activated, sending an EMP charge through the protected attackers, disabling their shields. 

He summoned a burst of energy and leapt high into the air, streaking down and slicing through their mechanical structures with a graceful swing of the blade. 

As the last battle droid collapsed into parts, the azure flame disappeared back into his hand. He turned to see Chuckles hoisting a bandolier, two grenades missing. A nod of encouragement ensued. 

“Quick thinking, Chuckles.” 

“Cap let me ‘borrow’ his grenades, thought I’d help ya out,” Chuckles grinned. Noble offered a chortle of amusement. 

“Yes, this is very touching, but we need to move,” Sash interrupted. Orren agreed, pausing for a moment to glance at the body of Ty, and then to Noble. 

Noble’s gaze lingered upon the corpse, as a memory flashed before him, one of Ty cleaning up a Pazaak game with all the winnings. It was their first meeting. The trooper’s eyes were full of joy, a clean sweep against his opponents. He looked up to Noble, who had entered the mess, with a cheesy grin. 

_“Care to join, sir?”_

The memory faded, and Ty’s expressive face was now a dead one, hanging lifeless beneath the helmet that defined them all. 

Stax couldn’t bear to look a second time at his dead brother. Orren addressed him. 

“Your trooper, Stax,” he said. 

“He died fighting for the Republic. An honorable death. We won’t forget him,” came the answer. Stax could only look forward towards the bridge and began to walk away. He had seen enough death. 

_For the Republic,_ Orren thought. _If only the rest of the Republic actually cared about them._

They pressed on. 

* * * * 

“What are our shields at?” 

“Sixty percent and falling, Admiral.” 

“Damn,” Vantu muttered. The Lucrehulk proved to be a thorn in her side as the atmosphere chewed away at her ship’s hull. 

“What’s our integrity look like lieutenant?” She asked again, as a turbolaser bolt resulted in a trembling bridge. 

“Hull is at forty. We’re sitting ducks without shields topside. We have structural deficiencies on deck two and deck four.” The inertial compressors. 

“Can we move the ships out of the atmosphere?” 

“We’d risk being within range of ship-to-ship missiles, the Seps would rip our bow open.” 

There wasn’t much time left, she pondered, watching the second Banking Clan frigate collapse into the atmosphere. 

Only a dreadnought and the Lucrehulk remained. 

“How do the others fare?” She inquired with urgency. 

“The _Accuser_ is at ten percent hull and thirty percent shields. The rest are similar to ours.” 

“What are they doing over there?” 

“They took a direct hit from a bombing run, Admiral.” 

“Get him on the line.” 

Within seconds, the Captain of the _Accuser_ appeared in holo-form before the Admiral. He looked a bit frightened, with a mixture of exhaustion. His face held pain. 

“Captain, you may retreat if you feel necessary. Do not risk the lives of your crew for this foolish plan of the Jedi’s.” 

“Admiral, with respect, we wish to fight on. Their Lucrehulk will fall within minutes.” 

The Admiral fumed internally, but said nothing, she dismissed his call. 

“Provide cover fire for the _Accuser_ , inform the _Emancipator_ to focus their particle beams on the dreadnought. Keep the rest of our batteries targeted to the Lucrehulk.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

She began biting the inside of her lip again. She was nervous. Missions had gone wrong before, but this one was coming down to the wire. She had lost battles, but she had never lost an entire capital ship, just squadrons of starfighters and cruisers. Vantu couldn’t risk this. 

_But the Captain was too stubborn. Too honorable_. She couldn’t deny that, she wouldn’t strip him of his honor and force him to run like a coward. But sometimes, she understood, you have to be realistic in war. 

Moments later, a flash of light caught her eye. The Separatist dreadnought just beyond their hull had broken in two and collapsed from particle beam fire. Droids and machinery were sent spiraling into the cold vacuum, floating on as satellite wreckage over Quermia. 

“We have them. Press all fire onto the Lucreh-..” she was interrupted cleanly by the hyperspace alarm. The crew on the bridge froze as the alarm sunk into the ears, rang through their worried consciences. 

“A-Admiral.” 

She didn’t speak. 

“Incoming fleet from hyperspace.” 

* * * * 

On the ridge overlooking Qulara, Karma was finishing his guardianship of the platoon. Hoisting his rifle back over his shoulder, he trudged down the hill towards the city gate, seeking a quick rendezvous in the royal district with his squad. 

If this was their last battle, he wanted to be there with his brothers. 

Stepping over the wreckage of the city’s gate, he heard blaster fire in the distance. Slowing his pace as he entered the main plaza, he saw the body of a trooper sitting up against a building, head slumped over. 

He recognized the markings and scuffs on the plastoid uniform. It was Nox. The poor soldier had two blaster bolts sizzling in his chest, his final breaths had already been taken. 

Karma closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the time he and Nox stayed up in the mess hall swapping their ambitions for after the war. That seemed like eons ago. Now the end is upon them, and Nox wasn’t there to see it. 

Karma continued, bowing off to the left towards the royal district bridge, as the smoke plumes from Gunship Six billowed over rooftops. 

A few hundred meters away, Gale and Tempest Squads were suppressing fire from a battle droid encampment established around the foot of the Quermian palace. The palace grounds were regal and serene, capturing an almost ephemeral essence of beauty with an abundance of gardens and foliage. But the violence in the outer square threatened to ruin that. 

“Tandem, my bandolier, now!” Noble rushed him, handing the bandolier over to the trooper as he continued suppressing fire on the droid fortifications. 

Tandem rummaged into one of the pockets, retrieving a thermal detonator. He grabbed a second one for safe measure. He activated them with haste, and hurled them across the palace square to the droid encampment. 

Their suppressing fire stopped and they ducked down, waiting. 

Two explosions rang out that shook the palace grounds; dust and soot flooded the area and the clones switched their helmet displays to high particulate modes, filtering out pollutants and scanning the area for droid stragglers. They were only met with the faint glow of street lamps and droid parts. 

The detonators had tore two wide holes in the fortifications, allowing the squads to push forward on silent command from Orren. Stax noticed a B2 droid crawling towards them, its lower half dismembered. He raised his rifle and ended its movements. 

Karma swiftly ascended the steps to the palace square, noticing the two squads moving up to the main palatial doors. He glanced around him, taking in his surroundings as the dust cleared out. The palace was massive in comparison to the city; its spires and structural citadels resembled the palace on Naboo, only this one was made from a white marble, a Quermian favorite. 

Following after his squads, he heard footsteps to the right. Stopping in his tracks and raising his DC-15, he caught three figures down his sightlines. Upon further examination, he realized they were Quermians. Their pasty long necks had given them away instantly. They raised their twin sets of arms up in surrender, but Karma simply lowered his rifle. 

It was a family of three, the young daughter seemed to be crying, and the father looked desperate while his wife soothed their child. 

“Get out of here, get somewhere safe! Hurry,” Karma ushered them out of the square. “Get to your home, please.” They obliged, the father’s expression morphed into deep graciousness as he nodded his thanks profusely. 

“You’re welcome, just get out of the square, quickly.” Karma watched the surroundings for an ambush. It was quiet. He looked back to the fleeing family, a twinge of envy surging through his spirit. 

Turning to follow his squadmates once more, he remembered the battle raging above them. 

Lifting his eyes upwards to the tiny figures in the atmosphere, he was only met with loss and pure horror.


	3. The Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fates are sealed and Zero Hour arrives.

**III**

_“One day, there will come a time where I am no longer a part of this universe. When that time comes you must be ready, my padawan. For the scales must always be balanced.”_

* * * * 

Quermia 

Twenty minutes to Zero Hour 

“Separatist fleet incoming!” 

The Admiral was in disbelief. That disbelief quickly dissolved and anger took its place. She was right, the Jedi’s plan was about to get them all killed. 

Four Providence dreadnoughts and two additional Lucrehulks punched into the battle immediately from hyperspace. They angled their batteries and began unloading lances of turbolaser flak and concussion missiles on the closest star destroyer, the _Accuser_. 

Vantu’s eyes shut instinctively to the destruction of the _Accuser_ , unfolding in real-time. The bridge tower collapsed under the weight of atmospheric pressure; several decks capsized below that, causing a cascade failure that wiped out the ion engines in a spectacular fireball. 

“Admiral, your orders?” Came a call from behind her. Her eyes were hesitant to open, pupils darting around, watching the _Emancipator_ pivot to brace for oncoming fire. 

All the while, she forgot to notice the original Lucrehulk coordinating its particle beams on her own ship. 

The bridge rocked to the side as the beams tore through the superstructure, and the capital ship heaved and buckled against its own skeleton. Sparks flew on the bridge and the crew were scattered like snow flurries in a blizzard. 

“What’s our hull integrity!?” 

“Eight percent!” 

“Shields?” 

“Gone, sir!” 

Her face twitched at the realization. The _Emancipator_ was the next to fall, turbolasers ripping into its hull and splintering it into fragments. Only the _Justifier_ and the _Prosecutor_ were left. 

On the bridge of the _Justifier_ , Captain Meela was lost for words. The tide of the battle had swiftly turned against them, and thousands of souls were adrift in Quermia’s atmosphere, broken wreckage of Venators disintegrated amidst the heat. 

“Any word from the Admiral?” He asked, his voice shaking. 

“None, sir.” 

He swallowed, nodding slowly. 

“Then we fight on.. For the Republic.” he turned to glance at his bridge crew, who were frantically relaying data to squadrons and bombers and coordinating gunnery targets. They all stopped for a moment to observe the Captain’s premature eulogy for their cause. 

“It’s been an honor serving with you all.” 

On the _Prosecutor_ , Admiral Vantu called Lieutenant Mahfe once again. 

“Can you get the _Justifier_ , Mahfe?” 

“Her comms are down, sir.” 

“Farrik,” she whispered. 

“Admiral, our integrity has dropped to two percent. We won’t last much longer,” Mahfe continued. The bridge shook again, sparks continued arcing from a faulty panel across the rear of the room, electrocuting a member of the systems crew and ushering in a fire team. 

Vantu shook her head slowly, glancing down to the surface of the world below them, before finally turning on her heels to face the crew. 

“Is our hyperdrive online?” 

“It was damaged in the last turbolaser salvo, sir,” came a reply. 

“How long till it’s up?” 

“Our teams are down there now, they can have it patched in five minutes.” 

“Set course out of the system, Lieutenant,” she turned back to Mahfe. 

Another turbolaser barrage struck the command tower, Vantu was nearly thrown to her feet, the screaming from her crew members began to drown out her own, internally. 

“We have teams still planetside Admiral we can’t le-....” 

“DO IT,” she ordered, gaining her balance and turning back to face the oncoming fleet. To her right, the _Justifier_ was putting up its final fight, all deck batteries were relentless, sending a storm of laser fire across empty space to the Separatists. 

The smell of charred metal wafted across the bridge as she watched another particle beam from a Banking Clan frigate rip through the bow of the _Justifier_. 

In a mere fraction of a second, the lives of thousands of men and women aboard the _Justifier_ were ripped away, sucked into weightless space, no time to say goodbye, no time to think, it just all went black. 

“Hull integrity at one percent sir, they’re coming around to target us.” 

She made her last act. 

“Call all squadrons back now. Turn the ship perpendicular to their fleet, make it harder for them to broadside us. Keep the hangar doors online but reroute all auxiliary power from the hangar bay and med bay to the shield generators and hyperdrive chambers!” 

“Sir, we have injured personnel in the med bays.” 

“It’s either they suffer or we all die, Lieutenant. Do it.” 

Mahfe obliged. Silently, he was glad he wasn’t the one standing up there making those calls. 

The hangar and medical bays were plunged into dark silence, losing all power and access to the rest of the ship. Mechanics and medical droids fumbled around frantically in the blackness, searching for emergency lights as the decaying shell of the _Prosecutor_ was battered by round after round of turbolaser fire. 

“Hull integrity now critical Admiral!” Mahfe relayed to his superior. 

“Can we jump yet?” she said, her voice had started to shake. The approaching fleet resembled a hornet’s nest of capital ships eager to end the battle. 

“No sir.” 

She glanced down to her communications relay on the control panel. In an angry furor, she slammed the recording switch to send a message to the surface teams. 

“Jedi. If you hear this message, I’ll see you in hell.” 

Her message of vitriol was interrupted. 

“Admiral! Our hull is crippled, while we wait for the hyperdrive I need your voice activation to keep our systems running.” 

She looked up at the voice sensor on the ceiling. Again, the bridge was pounded with enemy fire. The distressed commotion behind her was becoming deafening as the fire team attempted to suppress the electric storm and the crew scrambled in panic. The Separatist fleet was closing in. 

“Admiral Eera Vantu. I authorize system continuation.” In her years of commanding the _Prosecutor_ , from nebula warfare to asteroid field engagements, this was perhaps the most unsure she had ever been. 

“Voice recognition accepted. Maintaining systems,” the monotonous AI responded, and Mahfe’s screen was green-lit. 

From her command point at the foot of the bridge, Vantu noticed the snake-like outlines of missiles deployed from the enemy vessels. Without a sound, they sailed through the empty vacuum towards the _Prosecutor_ ’s hull. 

Her turbolasers intercepted some, but not all. 

Quietly, she began to accept her fate, changing her gaze for a moment to linger on those lost in space. 

The Admiral watched the smoldering wreckage of her sister ships descend into the cloudtops of Quermia’s stratosphere, transitioning from mechanical meteoroids to drenched war debris. Towards the assault teams on the surface. Towards the Jedi. Onboard were thousands of souls, lost adrift in cold space, their fates sealed for all eternity. She seethed as her own ship began falling apart around her. Their very ruination reflected in her eyes. 

“We have word from the lower decks!” Mahfe called out. He began punching numbers into his system’s terminal. 

But Vantu saw the missiles reaching their targets. The starboard gun batteries. The hangar bay. Turbolaser towers. What remained of their shield generator. Collapsing. Like a stellar giant gone supernova. All of her battles, her campaigns, her crew. Gone in the flash of a missile salvo. 

In her mind, it was too late. 

* * * * 

Karma’s face -- seeking to observe the battle above -- shifted from disbelief to terror in seconds upon seeing the Republic fleet gone, only destruction ensued. 

_They brought reinforcements_. 

He made haste up the steps to the palace doors, he needed to find his squad as fast as he could. 

Entering the main foyer, he sprinted down the cavernous forward hall, keeping his rifle at the ready. A few of the ornate light fixtures flickered on and off as broken glass rained down onto the marble floor. Droid parts were everywhere. A few rays of waning sunlight filtered in through the punctured holes in the palace’s stained glass windows, illuminating his abraded armor. 

Karma followed the sound of blaster fire towards the center of all Quermian governance, the throne room just ahead. 

The capacious seat of governance was a circular rotunda, complete with a domed ceiling, stone pillars maintaining structural integrity from the roof, and cascading waterfalls from a recycled water system descending into terraformed pools along the east portico balcony. Fresco paintings embellished the rotunda ceiling, expressing historic events from Quermia’s past. 

Transparent windows allowed for a panorama of the entire city, with Gunship Six’s crash smoke piercing the pink sky across the river. The planet’s singular sun exhaled its final breath on the horizon, bringing near-dusk to Qulara. 

Karma found the Gales and Tempests gathered around the throne seat itself, the droid commander unit occupied it, with numerous blaster bolts reeking from its durasteel construction. 

Chuckles and Tandem were posing with the riddled droid, Noble catching a laugh or two from their antics. Dynamo was assisting Fix in setting up a mobile communications relay. On the far side of the throne room, Orren was treating a blaster wound on Sash’s leg. Stax and Copy sifted through rubble guarding the royal family’s apartments. 

Incapacitated droids littered the floor, marked by blaster holes and saber cuts. Karma noticed Ty was missing, but didn’t speak on it. More pressing matters existed. 

Chuckles noticed him first. 

“Aye Karma! You’re late to the party again, buddy. We got ‘em! Whole fleet should be retreating now. Dynamo fired the lucky shots into this tinny, isn’t that right, Dy?” 

Dynamo turned and shrugged, pointing to Noble. 

“Only learned from the best.” Noble appeared proud of the trooper, before looking to the new arrival. “Fashionably late Karma? Better late than never I reckon.” 

Karma didn’t speak. He tried for a moment but it wasn’t happening. He was still processing it. 

“Loth-cat got your tongue, trooper?” Noble asked. “You alright?” 

Silence. 

Dynamo noticed the exchange and looked to Karma. “Hey. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s up?” 

Karma’s eyes warily drifted upwards, towards the ceiling. The squad followed in near unison. 

“What’re we lookin’ at here, Karma?” 

The silent clone finally spoke. 

“They wiped us out.” 

“Who did, trooper?” Noble asked, an uneasiness settling in as he realized what those words meant. He remembered the reports from the _Malevolence_ campaign at the war's onset. 

“The Separatists..” Karma’s mouth hung agape for a moment. “They brought reinforcements. If there’s anything left of us to take.” 

The others felt their curiosity distort into apprehension, and eventually fear. 

“What do you mean anything _left_?” Tandem was the first to inquire. 

“Our ships are gone. They’re just rubble in the atmosphere.” Karma mumbled. 

“Then the Seps are coming,” Tandem said, grabbing his rifle from the floor. “Captain, we need a contingency. Now.” He shot a look to Noble, who seemed lost, as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. He slowly began to issue a directive, raising his hands to the others, grabbing their attention. 

“Alright boys, let’s everyone just calm down for a moment. We busted Commander Tinhead here, we did our job. Now we gotta get off this rock before the tinnies have our heads.” His eyes scanned the floor for no apparent reason, but the man was focused. He turned his attention to Fix. 

“Fix! You got that comms relay to the gunships online?” 

Fix nodded slowly, plugging in the last wire to the device. 

“Should be reconnecting with the outside world in a few seconds.” 

The room grew noiseless after that. Nobody knew what to say. Were they really stranded on a hostile world with no rescue in sight? 

The comms relay went online, as the room was sinking slowly into the darkness of twilight. A holo-projector sent forth an array of scattered hologram images. Fix tinkered with the signal until the grain became clear. 

Orren and Stax came over as the messages began rolling off. 

“This is Lieutenant Dice, we have lost four of our squad---” Blaster fire could be heard. Dice returned to the message hastily. “We are taking heavy fire, our gunship is down in the market district. We need support asap. Copy.” 

“Roll the next,” Noble urged. 

Another trooper appeared, this one seemingly more distressed than Dice was. 

“General, we need reinforcements! We’re pinned down around Gunship Six. More droids than we expected. We came to rescue them but we’ve lost too many. Need assistanc---” The transmission went dead. 

“Why weren’t we receiving these until now, Captain?” Orren asked Noble. 

“It seems the droids were jamming our squad-to-squad messaging. Once we installed this relay, it was too powerful to be jammed, it’s bouncing messages to the gunships, then to us.” 

The next message rolled without any interference. 

It was the bridge of the _Prosecutor_. The steely eyes of Admiral Vantu pierced through even a hologram, sparks of electricity surging behind her, bridge crew distraught with fear, it was chaotic. 

“Jedi. If you hear this message, I’ll see you in hell.” 

Her voice was cold, glacial almost. Her eyes remained locked forward, gazing into the souls of each trooper watching the message, the Admiral’s demeanor was quietly enraged, with a smidge of hopeless fear. None of the clones had ever seen her like this before, let alone Orren himself. 

The Jedi stood behind the squads, arms crossed at his chest, gazing right back into Vantu’s holographic eyes. His own expression was devoid of conscious warmth, he appeared almost corpse-like. 

At that moment, he knew he had failed. It was possible that thousands were dead because of his plan. Restless souls unable to journey home and kiss their loved ones. Innumerable clones who were fighting, battle to battle, seeking respite from the bloodshed. All dead. 

The Jedi often did not often allow their emotions to go unchecked. They were taught to control them, or simply let it go. Lack of control over emotion, especially that of attachment or turmoil, was a fast pass to the dark side of the Force. 

At that moment, not even the brightest star in the galaxy could prevent Orren Kara from shedding a tear. Soldiers and shipmen he fought beside for three years, all wiped away in a matter of an hour. Where was the Force? Why wasn’t it saving them? He had never lost on a scale like this. He had felt victory through the Force, yet it was not manifesting. 

He caught the tear with a sole graze of his index finger and looked to the clones around him. They were like brothers to him. His master always had the Wolfpack, but these troopers before him were his family. Would he have tried to put them in harm’s way? No way in hell. 

He kept looking at each trooper before him. 

None of the clones looked at him. Perhaps not out of anger, but sheer loss at the toll extracted by his plan. The comparisons between clones and droids were frequent. But this established a sharp contrast. 

“There’s one more message, sir,” Fix murmured, allowing it to roll. 

As the final echoes of sunlight fell to their slumber, and the burning city of Qulara cried out in pain, the third and last message warped into view on the holo-projector. 

A hooded figure, whose sharp, yellow eyes were the only visible feature, stood before them. 

Orren took notice and began to feel pain. Not within himself, but through an overwhelming sense of disaster in the Force, his head began to split, and his vision fogged, sensory nerves overloading. 

The figure began speaking. His voice was raspy, yet held a sickly and menacing resonance. 

“To all clone troopers, loyal soldiers of the Republic. The time has come.” 

The clones looked to each other a final time, unsure of what was about to befall. 

“Execute Order 66.” 

The throne room grew silent for a moment as the troopers seemed to snap to a new reality. Their previous lives had become dreams. Their previous loyalties had become fiction. They all faced the hologram and spoke unanimously, as one deciding body, rather than individuals. 

“It will be done, Lord Sidious.” 

Orren, still reeling from the agony of the suffering in the Force, took a step back, clutching his head. He felt explosions, blaster fire, the screams of those once held in highest esteem. An unbalanced scale reaching the tipping point. 

Murder. Execution. Extermination. Massacre. 

All he saw before him was darkness. The Force, once guiding the path for his entire life up to this point, now had nothing to offer him but hurt. It lacked clarity, it lacked a way forward. It felt.. lost. 

He glanced up for only a moment, and that was all the time he needed to realize what was happening. 

_Who was Lord Sidious?_

The clones, without a murmur, obliged the order bestowed upon them. Perhaps they felt it was an honor from Lord Sidious. Perhaps they struggled against it, a cerebral tug-of-war that waged in the mere fraction of a minute. No matter their personal feelings, they knew it had to be done. 

They weren’t sure why. They just knew, somehow, that no matter what, the order _must_ be carried to fruition. It was, possibly, the most important order of their lives. 

Each of them followed it, as any good soldier would do, and slipped their helmets on, grabbed their weapons, and drew them to Orren. 

Orren called to his lightsaber through the Force, and it immediately reached his hand. The smooth ignition of blue flame answered the sudden aggression by the clones. 

Their fingers gripped the triggers. The rifles resounded in response, as blue blaster bolts met a blue blade in the dark rotunda of the Quermian palace. 

Orren appeared anguished, he tried calling out to his squad. 

“Stand _down_ troopers! I am not your _enemy_!” 

They were silent. Methodical. Systematic. Robotic. They had become the very thing they swore to destroy. 

He reached into the Force and lifted himself into an arcing backflip to the entrance of the portico. The clones followed, relentlessly firing. Sash was the sole exception, passed out in the corner of the throne room from pain medication. 

The other eight followed after Orren as he backed his way out onto the portico, the light of Quermia’s three moons bathing his robes in breaths of lunar light, and scattered ship debris tearing across the night sky. 

Reaching the edge of the portico, and finding a rather large drop to the land below on the other side, Orren was in a bind. 

The clones advanced, fingers never leaving their triggers, a storm of blue on blue clashing just beyond the throne room, that could be seen from lonely rooftops all across the war-ravaged city. 

_Something happened to the clones. Something changed._ Orren thought. _Did it involve this Lord Sidious?_ He had no time to ponder the existence of Order 66, or its invoker. He only had time to deflect the onslaught of killing shots. The overwhelming emotion and loss he felt only fueled his flurry of dancing deflections. 

Orren could not kill them. He would not. These troopers, these _men_ , were the only family he had. He could not put them down. Not today. His saber work never bordered riposte territory, staying within the realm of simple parries that sent the bolts careening into the stained glass of the palace. The beleaguered Jedi kept the deflection away from the clones. 

He felt his strength drawing away. His energy was fading. He could not keep this up forever, as Orren Kara was a far cry from the defensive handiwork of Master Kenobi, and he knew this. 

He considered resigning himself to his fate, refusing to kill innocent troopers. 

Until he noticed it. 

Rising up from the throne room floor, dragging its bisected upper half towards the portico entrance, was a lone super battle droid. Energy coils depleting fast, its arm was raised, and the singular wrist rocket was primed. 

It was the final act of a Separatist soldier -- a pawn built to understand only one thing -- as their fabricated war drew to a close and the checkmate had been played. 

It fired. 

“NO!” 

It was no use. 

The clones blocked him from using a Force push, which may have prevented it all. 

The rocket left the dying droid, whistling through the humid night, making contact with its target, the portico roof. 

The ensuing fireball collapsed the structure, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much! I wrote the first three chapters before posting here and on FFN. So any updates after this will come in due time. I have a lot more planned!


	4. Unlikely Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening on a once hostile world, the clones enter a changed galaxy. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

**IV**

* * * * 

Unknown -- 19 BBY 

Two weeks post Zero Hour 

Cold. 

Scintillating. 

Fluttering memories. Visions of the past. 

_Blaster fire. The echoes of war. A sonic boom. Engine misfires. Cries of pain._

_Lightsabers going dim. The winds of calm._

For once, the nightmare didn’t continue. 

His eyes opened to a flash of light. Sterilized, frigid air enveloping his exposed skin. 

Glancing around, he leaned up. Pain. 

Wincing, he lay back to the pillow. His bed was small, hard, resembling a medical stretcher. 

The atmosphere was clean, too clean. It was clinical. It was quiet. 

Captain Noble drew in breath, to a slight twinge of discomfort in his chest. Out of reaction, he went to clutch it with his hand. But he could not. 

His right hand was cuffed with magnetic links to the stretcher bed. So was his left. 

Then he became aware of the monitor beeping beside his bed. Followed by another. He looked to them for guidance on his predicament. 

They offered no solace. One displayed his beats per minute, the other his blood oxygen level. The former was nestled around 80, the latter was at 95. Slightly below average, perhaps the reason for the pain in his lungs. 

His head found the pillow again. He groaned. This wasn’t the med bay of a Venator, nor the barracks on Coruscant. There was no semblance of comfort, no reassuring squadmates surrounding him. 

It was only cold. 

He closed his eyes, focusing on breaths only, seeking a respite from the discomfort. Noble found none. 

A figure listened to him from an open doorway, out of sight. She contemplated, then spoke. 

“I see you’re finally awake.” 

Noble snapped to, yanking his arm attempting to reach for the pistol that was no longer there. He began to shiver, eyes following the sound of the voice to a doorway foyer. Beyond that, he saw no one. 

“Wh-who’s there?” He croaked. His voice box had not been used in weeks. 

There came no reply. 

“Show yourself!” He tried to call out, only a pitiful attempt resulted. 

The speaker came in from the doorway, clad in brown leather garb, a DG-29 sideloader tucked away in its holster, cloak billowing behind her. 

Noble appeared confused. 

“Who are you?” He finally asked. 

“You may call me Laeda.” 

Noble attempted to draw breath again, soreness ensued still. 

“Be careful. You aren’t one hundred percent yet,” she urged. Her strikingly golden eyes followed his pain, from his chest to his face, appearing slightly concerned. 

Noble took a moment to inspect the woman. She seemed strangely soothing, despite her impressive stance. Her hair remained pulled back into a ponytail, as black as a field of cooling magma. Freckles adorned the bridge of her nose, and her warm, yet youthful demeanor did not relent. She was perhaps no older than twenty-five. 

“Rest, Captain.” She spoke again. Her accent was noticeable, but he couldn’t discern where it was from. 

“Wher-..” Noble took a sharp cough. Speaking was a bit of a chore at the moment. His head fluttered, and for the briefest of seconds, he remembered. 

_“They wiped us out.”_

_“I’ll see you in hell.”_

_“Execute Order 66.”_

_“Stand_ down _troopers! I am not your_ enemy! _”_

He shook out of the trance, disconcerted by what he saw. He could still feel the steel trigger of the DC-15, blaster fire plunging the Jedi’s senses into chaos. The spectacular sunset that dressed the Quermian throne room in an otherworldly glow. The mysterious holo-message. 

The Order. 

All of that was gone. He felt afraid. 

_What have I done?_

“Where! Where am I?” He inquired hastily. “Where’s the General?” 

“Relax, Captain. You’re safe for the moment.” 

“I-I.. We tried to kill him..” 

“Try to take a deep breath or two and lay back, Captain. You almost suffered a collapsed lung on Quermia.” _Thank the stars for bacta,_ she mused. 

“Quermia..” He wondered out loud. “My men.. Where are my men!?” 

He began to grow impatient, his emotions grew uncontrollably quickly. So much had happened in such a short time. He could not grasp it all. 

“One moment. Please, try to relax. I will give you the answers you seek.” 

She turned and left the room. 

Minutes passed, but to Noble, they felt like hours. How long had he been there? It joined the list of numerous other questions he needed to have answered. Soon. 

He heard the door slide open. In came a medical droid. 

“CT-6206, you require your daily medical evaluation.” 

Noble sighed, but even that drew pain from his chest. His head could only meet the pillow to ease the aching. 

“Your lungs are healing quite well, but you should refrain from active field work for the next seven days and receive routine bacta injections to clear any potential infections.” 

Noble tugged at his magnetic shackles, nodding to them. 

“Can’t exactly do any work anyways if you hadn’t noticed,” he quipped. 

“Right. Of course. Those will be removed momentarily. Please lie down and stay still for approximately forty seconds.” 

“Why?” 

“I need to perform a brain scan.” 

“Did I-..” He coughed again, recoiling as it happened. “Did I hit my head?” 

“No. We performed surgery on your brain eight days ago.” 

_What?_

Noble yanked at his shackles. “You did _what_!?” 

“Please, lie still.” 

“You tell me what the hell you did to me!” 

The droid did not respond. It only turned and exited the room. 

A minute or two later, Laeda reappeared, with the droid in tow. 

“He refuses the brain scan,” it told her. 

“Did you explain to him what happened?” 

“Not yet, ma’am.” 

She sighed. “I’ll do it, wait outside.” 

The droid obliged, and she sat in a chair on the opposite wall from Noble’s bed. 

“The shackles are for your own good,” she remarked. 

“Why’s that?” He seethed. 

“For a few reasons. First being, after a potentially personality-altering brain surgery, we were concerned for side effects. You still seem relatively…” she paused for the words, “....clone-like to me.” 

Noble’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Your first instinct was to find your leader and your men. You clones take loyalty to a whole other level than most soldiers.” Her eyes locked with his. “I admire it.” 

“Where.. Are my men?” He asked again, not appearing to be in a playful mood. 

“You’ll find out in just a minute, Captain, if you’ll allow me to continue.” 

He softened for a brief moment, agreeing to hear her out so he could get to his men. 

“The second reason being, once I tell you what I’m about to tell you….” She smirked. “Well, we wanted to avoid potential violence.” 

He gulped, apprehension gripping him like a plague. 

“Go on.” He said. 

“I am one of the lead recoverers for the Intergalactic Medical Corps. We found you and your squad on Quermia, buried under some rubble in the palace.” 

_The rocket reached the portico, and all that followed was destruction_. 

“Where am I now?” He prodded on with the questions. 

“You’re being held in one of the only military-grade medical facilities on Raxus Secundus.” 

“Raxus Secu-....” He didn’t even finish his own spoken thought before he realized. He attempted to yank his hands from the shackles, growing angry. 

“Raxus Secundus!?” His voice box was not happy with him. 

“Captain, calm down. Let me explain.” 

“You kidnapped us and dragged us to the Separatist capital to become prisoners of war? _Where are my men_!?” The shouting didn’t unnerve her in the slightest, but drew the attention of two security officers, who entered promptly. 

“Everything okay in here, Laeda?” One asked, hand hesitantly resting on his holstered blaster. 

Noble defiantly inched his way up in the bed and craned his neck, his eyeline aligning with the small window that was built into the wall above Laeda’s head. He gazed upon the outside world. 

Just beyond the glass pane, lay the sweeping vista of the Separatist’s capital city. 

The amber hue of Raxus Secundus’ atmosphere cast a sultry light over the capital city, built around the massive citadels of the Separatist Senate building. Skylanes could be seen drawn above the urbanity, but many rebellious drivers took it upon themselves to create their own paths around the city. Geometrically aligned boulevards intersected the circular streets encompassing the senate building and cut their way cleanly outwards as extended thoroughfares. 

The medical facility was built on a plateau overlooking the metropolis, which lay in a rather dry plain. 

“I can imagine you aren’t pleased with what you see. Stand down, men.” Laeda spoke calmly. “Bring the Captain some water while you’re out.” The security officers proceeded to leave. 

“I don’t want water. I want to see my men.” 

Laeda sighed. It had been long enough. 

“And I want to know what you put in my head.” 

She stood, moving to the foot of the bed. 

“You mean, what we took _out_.” 

Noble’s expression dropped into a near bottomless pit. 

“I will explain. But first, your men, as you requested.” She withdrew a small sensor key from her chest pocket and waved it over the opposing shackles. They unlocked. 

“I suggest you refrain from attacking myself or anyone else. We saved your lives in more ways than one. Come with me,” she beckoned, and headed for the door. 

Noble rubbed his wrists, turning to place his feet on the floor. He drew back slightly at the cold floor against his skin, and braced against the bed for support as he slowly stood to full height. 

His body had been immobile for weeks, it was wise he re-learn how to walk again. 

A groan of pain could be heard from the bedside as he pushed himself forward and took a few steps. Laeda continued out the door. 

Noble followed, albeit slowly, holding onto the edges of the wall as he stepped out of his room and into a brightly lit foyer space. 

Chairs were gathered in a semicircle around a screen. Those seated in the chairs were facing away from him, but hearing him enter gained their attention. They turned to see him. 

His brothers. 

In unison, he looked upon the faces he had come to know over the last three years. Dynamo, Fix, Chuckles, _wait_. One was missing. 

But another was gained. Karma sat off to the side of the group, with an empty seat between himself and Fix. 

_Where was Tandem?_

The troopers looked exhausted and confused. But they joined together in one look of relief upon seeing their squad leader emerge from his room. 

“You were the last to wake up Captain,” Dynamo said. “It’s good.. To see you.” He struggled with his words, emotions in turmoil on his face. 

Noble looked to Fix, who had tears in his eyes, but could say nothing. 

Then he saw Chuckles, and the realization hit him. Tandem was gone. 

Chuckles gave a small nod to his captain, but the immeasurable grief that took hold of his demeanor did all of the talking. He was the first to turn back around. The typically light-hearted comedian of the bunch was the one stricken with sorrow. 

Noble moved towards the empty chair, where he locked eyes with Karma. 

“Captain.” 

“Karma..” Noble muttered. “Where’s the rest of yo-....” 

“They didn’t make it out, Stax is alive but he’s..” 

“He’s what?” 

“You’ll have to see for yourself.” 

“Captain,” Laeda called out. Noble turned to see her approaching from a corridor. “Take a seat. I’ll explain everything to you all.” 

He did so. 

“Why are we here? Are we prisoners of the Seps?” Dynamo asked. 

“No,” came her reply. 

“So you just happen to do work at their capital? What is this!?” The trooper was flustered, and Noble noticed a gash on his forehead. It was healing, with a bacta patch draped across the laceration. 

“Settle down,” Laeda said, moving to the holo-projector in the center of the seated clones. She cleared her throat. 

“The Republic you all fought for is dead.” Her revelation was plain and almost deadpan. 

“That’s not possible. We were on the verge of victory,” Noble sputtered out. 

“You’re right. And the Separatists were on the verge of defeat,” she replied. “But your beloved Chancellor had other plans.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She nodded to the security officers across the room, who dimmed the lights. She pressed a button at the base of the holo-projector, and an image of the Senate Chamber on Coruscant appeared. A hooded figure was illuminated in the center, speaking to the audience of thousands. 

It was the same hooded figure that spoke to them on Quermia. Fix grew visibly uneasy. 

_“In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for ten thousand years.”_

Thunderous applause ensued. The clones looked on in confusion, some in worry. 

“What is this? Propaganda?” Noble exclaimed. 

“Lieutenant, bring me the authentication codes,” Laeda said. One of the officers came over and activated a switch at the base of the hologram, and soon the authentication codes appeared below the Chancellor’s image. It was impossible to create a fraudulent recording from senate sessions, and this code had proved that. 

Fix sighed and laid his face into his hands. 

“The Chancellor? An Emperor?” Noble said. 

“It appears both sides of this war were fighting against the same tide,” Laeda replied. She looked to the floor. “But that tide was inevitable.” 

“He can’t just take over the Republic like that.” 

“I assure you Captain, he can. That’s exactly what he did. Enabled by the very senators swore to defend the Republic itself.” 

“Who do you represent then?” He inquired. 

“Our doctors are neutral. We represent no side in this war.” She paused briefly. “However, we were once doctors under the Separatist flag, treating injured citizens in battle zones. We disagreed with the methods utilized by the military leadership, and sought neutral independence to treat all those wounded.” 

The troopers watched her speak, not returning any words. 

“We remained here on Raxus Secundus where our primary medical bays were, but we operate several outposts throughout the galaxy. We wave white flags on the battlefield and ensure the safety of all.” 

“You picked us up then?” Fix murmured. 

“Aye, we did. My team and I heard of the battle on Quermia and went looking for survivors. We found a crashed gunship in the city, but all of those clones were dead.” The squad winced. 

“What happened to the rest of us?” Noble asked. 

“CT-4901 was declared deceased in the rubble. CT-5531 was found with fatal blaster wounds inside the rotunda and also declared deceased. A third was too badly crushed to be identified, but he was also a clone trooper.” 

Karma looked to the cold floor. He knew those numbers by heart. So did the others, but this one felt like a knife in the gut. 

_Copy, Sash, and Tandem._ They had lost Ty during the battle, and now three more were dead. Stax was alive, but Karma knew he wasn’t fit for another fight. 

“Their leader. Where is the Sergeant?” Noble looked to Laeda. 

“He’s alive, but he’s suffered internal organ issues that make his prognosis dire.” She looked around at them for a moment. “The objects we removed from your brains still exists inside CT-6224. If we had removed it, all hopes of saving him would have been lost from the procedures required to complete the surgery.” 

“What was removed..?” 

Laeda took a small plastoid jar out from her vest pocket. Presenting it before them, the clones leaned forward to examine what was inside. 

“They’re inhibitor chips. Biologically implanted, or grown. We aren’t quite sure of their origin.” 

Dynamo looked disgusted. Fix seemed lost for words. Chuckles paid little attention. 

Karma reached to the back of his head. “So that’s why our hair is gone, yeah?” 

“It was required for the surgery, indeed,” she replied. “We believe they may have a purpose in what happened two weeks ago.” 

The clones had the look of confusion still painted on their faces. This was a lot to take in. She continued before any of them could speak up. 

“They’re calling it the Purge,” she almost whispered the word. 

“Clones across the galaxy turned on their Jedi commanders and mowed them down with blaster fire. Eyewitnesses reported seeing entire squadrons pursuing and murdering their leaders from Utapau to Mygeeto. The civilians had no idea what was happening, but the Chance-... ahem, Emperor, had declared them enemies of the Republic and traitors. He claimed they attacked him, attempting to overthrow the Republic.” 

She shook her head, removing the hologram of Palpatine. Onward she pressed. 

“I didn’t buy it. We knew from the beginning how loyal the clones were. They were devoted to their Jedi leaders. We saw it in the aftermath of several battles, we would offer medical assistance to dying clones, and they simply asked if their Jedi made it out alive.” Her eyes wandered from Dynamo, across the semicircle to Karma. 

“They did a lot for us,” Karma offered. “They were like family to us.” 

“Exactly my point. Turning on your leader like flipping a switch seemed unusual. When we brought you all in here, we had to perform level five atomic brain scans. The scans are rare, but we have the equipment.” She took a breath, continuing, as the clones affixed their exhausted eyes upon her tale. 

“We found these chips, having never seen them before in humans. In the beginning, we chalked it up to being failsafes in case one of you went rogue, since you were created by cloners. Then we thought harder, and wanted to find a connection.” 

“And?” Noble said, expecting something of substance. 

Laeda didn’t speak for a second, eyes blinking rather slowly. She seemed in deep thought, considering how to proceed. 

Until she finally did. 

“You may enter!” She called out. A door behind them opened, and out walked Orren Kara. 

The Jedi sported some rough looking scratches on the left side of his cheek, stretching from the base of his eyelid to near his jawbone. His hair had grown out, and the early signs of a beard furnished his neck. His robe hid his iconic weapon, but everyone knew it was there. 

“General!?” Karma cried out. 

“We tried to kill you..” Fix said, his eyes becoming heavy with the burden of tears. 

Noble stood immediately, drawing hand to forehead in salute. The other clones slowly followed but Chuckles, who remained seated. 

“You didn’t do a very good job,” Orren said with a smirk. “At ease troopers, our war is over.” 

“You survived General?” Came a question from Dynamo. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He replied. 

Laeda studied their movements, watching the clones, each one, for any form of aggressive motion. But none came. 

“You all don’t feel the urge to kill him? You don’t see that he’s a traitor?” Laeda urged. “Go on, finish what you started.” She gazed up at Orren, who nodded at her. It was a test. 

The clones shook their heads, remaining in their positions. 

Chuckles spoke to her question. 

“You think we oughta, after how many died up there,” he said forcefully. It was the most focused he had seemed since the battle, which Laeda noted. He was still harboring the feelings of loss. 

“Watch your tone trooper,” Noble shot down at his despondent comrade. 

“Or else what Captain? You gonna court martial me? Put me under barracks arrest? None of that exists now. We followed the Jedi into a trap for all we know, and we lost Ty, Copy, Sash, Tandem, and the rest from that.” 

“You make decisions in war, Chuckles. The General made his, we all made ours. No one knew what was going to happen. That fleet came out of nowhere.” 

“He said there would be no reinforcements.” 

Noble looked to the Jedi, who remained silent, his eyes locked on Noble. 

“He told you that, trooper?” 

“I overheard him say it to Nox after the pre-flight briefing. Said something about the Force taking care of it all. Yadda yadda. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me.” Chuckles was gaining a bit of steam. 

“Pipe down Chuckles. Nobody’s perfect,” came a retort from Dynamo. 

“Yeah, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you.” 

That seemingly pissed Dy off. 

“You lookin’ for a fight?” Dynamo spat. 

“I wouldn’t be looking at you for anything.” 

Dynamo started towards him, but Laeda stepped in his way. 

“Enough,” she said softly. “We cannot fight amongst ourselves right now,” she turned to Orren. “The Jedi made his mistake. He will learn it comes with a price. But right now, you’ve all passed the test.” 

“What test?” Fix said. 

“The chips we removed from you, they most likely were the culprit behind your aggression towards the Jedi. So now we have to be sure of that.” 

“How so?” 

“Follow me.” 

She swept past them, giving a brief nod of encouragement to Orren as she did so, the cape draped across her back swelled in her wake. 

Down the corridor, she entered another medical room. The clones limped after her, while Chuckles remained in his seat, staring at the holo-projector. Orren watched him. 

“Chuckles,” he said. 

“Don’t.” 

"I’m.. sorry. For what happened. All of it. I made a mistake. I screwed up. I miss them too.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Last I checked, you weren’t the one who stayed up till the crack o’dawn with a bottle of spotchka in your hand, talkin’ about your future after the war. You didn’t eat with us. You didn’t sleep with us. You didn’t train with us. You led us.” Chuckles paused, and a small laugh could be heard. “You led us to this.” 

“We learn from our mistakes, Chuckles.” 

“A Jedi? Learning from a mistake? That’d be a first. Seems like whenever something went wrong, the blame was always put on us. All of you did it. Shaak Ti, Mundi, Koon, Windu, you. Gimme a break.” 

The mention of his master made him tense up, but Orren maintained his composure. 

“I did what I could with what I had.” 

“You mean the Force? Is that what you had ‘General?’” Chuckles shook his head. “Look where that got us. You Jedi couldn’t prevent the war, and it looks like you couldn’t even end it. You got outplayed.” He sighed. “And we’re the ones that have to suffer for it.” The trooper was smarter than he let on, but the poison of his words sunk deep into Orren as he mused upon them. 

“If you think you’re the only one in this room suffering right now, you are sadly mistaken. I’m sorry for what happened, but there’s no going back. Not anymore. Now we live with it.” 

“Have fun with that.” 

Orren blinked, the strife within almost consuming his persona. He tried to shake it off, but it was futile. He gave Chuckles a final eye, before following the others down the corridor. 

Inside the medical room was a lone bed, with a trooper shackled to it. Wires and gauges of all sorts poked and prodded his body, with only a washcloth covering his nether regions. 

He was awake, and the other clones stood around him. Noble had his hand on the restrained arm of the trooper. 

Orren realized it was Stax. 

Stax heard a newcomer enter and glanced up at the door to see Orren entering. 

His expression of misery immediately distorted into something else entirely. Rage. Anger. Silent Betrayal. 

Stax’s hands began flailing wildly beneath the shackles, eventually drawing blood from the raw skin. He groaned in pain yet gritted his teeth like a wild predator. He only had one thing on his mind. 

The other clones watched in horror as it unfolded, and Laeda only sighed. 

“So it’s true then.” Orren remarked. “The chip inside their brains controls them.” 

“It appears that way,” Laeda replied, looking to the other clones. 

“So then..” Fix began. “..then what’s our real purpose? To fight a war or to be controlled? Are we even human?” 

Dynamo looked down, pain growing on his face. 

“I don’t think we were ever human, troopers. We’re just numbers, like the droids.” 

Fix looked devastated as Stax continued writhing in unbridled fury. 

“He didn’t have much time left as it is,” Laeda said. “Now that he knows the Jedi is alive, he won’t be able to calm down. He has to see this mission through to the end.” Noble looked to her as she spoke. 

“Even if it kills him.” 

Orren could not bear to watch further, and she noticed. 

“Orren. There’s someone here who just arrived that might be interested in speaking with you. He’s a politician.” 

“I’ll go find him,” the Jedi said, turning to exit the room. As he did, he paid one final glance of respect upon reaching the doorway. He overheard Laeda tell the clones that it was time to let Stax go. 

Pacing down the corridor, he was met with only the sounds of grief. The clones wept for their brother, as she gave him the final injection to sleep. Noble clutched his raging hand in comfort as he slipped away, surrounded by his brothers, to an endless slumber. 

The hand fell motionless. 

To sleep forever, perhaps, would be more merciful than their new reality. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More exciting plot stuff to come, just gotta get some necessary storytelling done first!


	5. Parting Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for the future are made among the survivors.

**V**

* * * * 

Raxus Secundus -- 19 BBY 

Two weeks post Zero Hour 

Smoke hissed and poured from the starship ramp. 

Orren Kara stood at its base, awaiting the disembarking passengers. 

The medical facility’s hangar bay was crowded with incoming and outgoing flights, some emergency transports with elderly of all species, others transporting injured civilians from battle. 

At the rear of a sleek blue starship in the entry port, four figures emerged from the ship’s interior to the hangar floor, acknowledging the Jedi standing before them. 

Three were wearing the same attire, the robes of private senatorial guards. The fourth was more elegant, with a flowing navy blue robe, adorned in various gemstones and sparkling stitchery. 

The wearer was barely five foot eight, and a bit lean around the edges. Nevertheless, his garments suited him well, and fit around his figure like a glove. Polarized glasses sat draped across his face, and slight hues of gray were beginning to flourish in his well-trimmed pompadour cut. 

He was the first to speak. 

“You must be the one they told me was here.” 

Orren nodded. “I was told the same about you.” 

“I don’t have much time, Jedi, my ship is only here to have its transponder codes changed.” 

“You are the politician, yes?” 

“Oh, right, yes, I am.” The spectacled one extended a calloused yet well-shaped hand in greeting. Orren’s hand emerged from under his robe to shake it hesitantly. 

“Lyro Tunetta, Senator for the Galactic Republic.” He smirked, before adding. “Well.. I was.” 

“ _Was?_ ” 

“I just fled Coruscant,” he pulled his glasses down a bit to eye Orren from over the rim. “We were pursued by Palpatine’s security forces.” 

“On what charges?” 

“Conspiracy and treason. Was part of the delegation.” 

“Which delegation?” Orren asked. 

“They called us the ‘Delegation of Two-Thousand,’ formed from a few initial resistant senators. Naboo, Chandrila, Mon Cala, the like.” the senator frowned. “There aren’t two-thousand of us anymore, though.” 

“He made arrests?” 

“Aye. Day after Empire Day, rounded up a little over sixty of us, prosecuted and jailed. Must’ve been executed already. I was on the shortlist to be grabbed in the next round. My world was too influential to secede.” 

Orren had too many questions, but maintained his typical composure. 

“Empire Day?” 

“That’s what they’re calling it,” Lyro shuddered, motioning to a flight crew rushing past, and the pair moved out of the way. “The day Palpatine dissolved the Republic and formed the Empire.” 

“I see.” 

“You look lost, Jedi.” 

“It’s been the norm lately, forgive me.” 

“It’s alright. Your kind has seen a lot. Can’t imagine how you’re feelin’ right now. Bail told me what he saw.” 

“Bail.. Organa?” Orren knew the Senator from Alderaan. 

“That’s the one. Saw the Jedi Temple light up in flames the night before Empire Day. Palpatine declared them enemies of the state and traitors, had the clones march right in and slaughter them.” 

Orren could only wince. Lyro took notice and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said it differently.” 

“No, it’s fine. It is the truth.” Orren watched the ships come and go as Lyro fidgeted with his hands. 

The senator spoke again. 

“I imagine we’re both wondering why a Jedi and a Republic Senator are on the Separatist capital world.” 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Orren said. 

“Right..” Lyro muttered. “They were the only planet this far out that would accept my distress call. I suppose the remaining Seps aren’t too fond of the new regime.” 

“They had been fighting against it for three years, and suddenly it became more dictatorial,” Orren mused. 

“You ever wonder if we were on the wrong side this whole time, Jedi?” 

Orren remained quiet for a moment, watching an emergency cruiser depart, the glow from its sublight engines casting a faint radiance across his face. 

“I have.” 

There came a short silence between them. 

“Officer in charge of this place told me you got some clones here.” Lyro appeared slightly uneasy at his own statement. “Are they safe?” 

Orren nodded. 

“Good to hear. Wonder what caused all this.” 

Orren attempted to change the subject away from the clones. 

“Where did you say you were from again, Senator?” His eyes darted towards Lyro’s, catching them in a lock for a moment. 

“Taris. Crown jewel of the Outer Rim,” he suggested an half-hearted smile. 

“Did they ever clean up the Undergrowth?” Orren asked, demeanor still calm. 

Lyro looked stunned. _How did he know about the Undergrowth?_ He wasn’t sure if it was sarcasm or seriousness. He went with the latter. 

“Uhh.. well. It’s not too bad right now, just a few pesky gangs around. We’re cleaning up the pollution actually.” 

“I see.” Orren looked away again, a speeder catching his eye. “How long are you staying?” 

“Once the transponder codes are changed and we’ve refueled, we’ll be off to Dantooine to rendezvous with Senator Organa. He’s organizing a meeting of opposing senators, off the record.” 

“And you didn’t want to be followed by Imperials?” 

“Precisely.” 

Orren thought about it all for a second, and his mind drifted back to the clones inside the facility. 

“Senator?” 

“Yes?” 

“Could you spare room onboard for five extra souls?” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“My former clone squad.” 

Lyro’s face went blank. 

“You want me to carry them to Dantooine?” 

“If it’s not any trouble. There’s nothing for them here but pain.” Orren crossed his arms, the grainy air of Raxus Secundus causing his nose to twitch a bit. He sighed, watching a Rodian be carried inside on a stretcher. 

Lyro considered the request, nodded, and called his guards over. He spoke to them, before turning back to the Jedi. 

“Aye, we can make the room. They’ll be welcome at the meeting, I’m sure Senator Organa will be able to do much for them.” 

“Can he help them start over?” 

“Perhaps. If they want to. He wields great power in the bureaucracy.” 

“Good. I’ll inform them of this, if you’ll hang around just a little while longer. I appreciate your help, Senator.” 

“Anything for a Jedi.” 

A smile was exchanged briefly between the two as Orren offered a small bow and returned inside the medical facility. 

Fix was the first to see him re-enter, as he paced about in the foyer. He seemed dejected. 

“General. Stax is gone.” 

“You don’t have to call me that anymore Fix, really,” Orren urged. “But I am disheartened to hear that. He was a good trooper.. A good man.” 

Fix could only frown. 

“Where are the others? I have news that’s quite urgent.” 

“They’re speaking with Chuckles in one of the med bays. He seemed irate earlier.” 

Orren sighed. 

“Do you want me to fetch them sir?” 

Orren almost corrected him again, but didn’t bother. “That would be lovely, Fix, thank you.” 

Fix departed down a nearby corridor as Lyro entered the foyer. 

“We’re fueled up, just re-calibrating the transponder now and we’re ready for departure.” 

“Good, Senator. My squad will be here in a moment.” 

“Are you coming with us?” Lyro inquired. 

“No.” 

The Senator backstepped, looking at the man intently. “You have other plans, then?” 

“Indeed.” 

The next few words from Lyro became foggy. Orren lost focus, and the words drowned out in his own head. Not by his own intention, however. 

A splitting headache had grown from nowhere, spreading from his temples to the center of his forehead. He gripped his head with his hands, reeling from the onset of pain. Lyro stopped speaking and moved to his aid, but Orren declined. 

It was the Force. 

Something was wrong, he could feel it. But this time was different. There was no death, no betrayal or loss. The presence of a being was not taken away, but rather this time, something felt imminent. It felt foreboding, and almost like a warning. The disturbance was closer than most, to the point he could almost locate it. 

Until he could. 

A few systems away. The disturbance was strong, but it faded in time, and with it, his migraine. 

The Imperials were coming. It was time for them all to leave. 

Lyro’s diplomatic voice came back to his ears, the Senator sounded alarmed. 

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

Taking a few deep breaths, Orren offered a nod and quick thanks. 

“I’ll be fine Senator, thank you.” 

Lyro seemed hesitant, but spoke little further on the matter when he noticed Laeda entering the room. 

“Gentlemen,” she started. “The clones will be here momentarily. I understand you requested them for pressing matters, Orren?” 

“Yes,” his reply was faint, she seemed to notice. 

“Are you feeling okay? You look pained.” 

“I’ll be alright. The Force will mend any ailments.” 

She appeared almost as hesitant as Lyro, but relented to him. “Very well.” Her attention turned to the senator before her. 

“Senator, did your ship receive the necessary aid?” 

“Aye, thank you ma’am. It will be well used on my journey.” 

“I take it you fled from the Emperor’s circus on Coruscant?” 

“You’d be correct,” his eyes hid nothing from her, he was still unnerved in all that had transpired at the galactic capital. 

Before she could inquire further into his dealings, the clones appeared in a squad of five. All that remained of the 404th Battalion, which once proudly boasted close to a thousand men. It had been diminished to just five. 

“Troopers.” Orren said. 

“Sir?” Their resonating response wasn’t as lively as it normally was. Understandable, given they had just watched one of their own succumb to his wounds. All but Chuckles responded. Orren did not pry further into the bitterness. 

“I have arranged safe transport for you offworld. You’ll be escorted by Senator Tunetta here of Taris. He will take you to Dantooine, where you will be able to start new lives, and put the war behind you.” 

The clones didn’t seem to understand what was happening. 

_They were no longer fighting?_

For a clone, fighting was encoded into their very DNA. How to load a bandolier, fire a mortar, secure a hill, clear a hot landing zone, unjam a DC-15, roll a droidbuster. The very essence of a clone was warfare. 

“New lives?” Dynamo asked. 

“Yes. You are free,” Orren replied, barely managing a smile over the fading phantom pains of his headache. 

“Well.. what do we do?” Fix said. 

“That’s for you to decide, for you to choose. Senator Tunetta here has a friend on Dantooine, someone with enough power to craft entire identities for you all.” 

The confusion still had not left the clones entirely. Fix and Dynamo looked to each other. Noble’s eyes narrowed, staring at the floor in thought. 

“Captain?” Orren said. 

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just a lot to take in,” Noble replied. 

“Yeah.. I just don’t understand. Last thing I remember we were on Quermia, trying to kill you, sir. Then we wake up here, find out our brains had chips in ‘em, and now the war’s all over?” Fix said. 

“And both sides lost? I never quite planned for this,” Dynamo added. 

“Neither did I,” said Karma. 

“I understand. I know you’re all confused, probably overwhelmed. But you have to trust me. Where you’re going, you’ll be well taken care of until you choose where it is you shall go. It’s not safe to remain on this world for much longer,” Orren noticed Laeda eyeing him, but ultimately she nodded in agreement. 

“He’s right. Most of the Separatist senators fled the world after the droid army shut down. The Repub-.. sorry, Imperial fleets will be descending here any day now. Finding five clones without inhibitor chips won’t bode well for any of you,” she said. 

“Please,” Orren said to them. “I know you may be hesitant of my command now. You may not be willing to trust me fully anymore. That’s okay. But you are all in danger if you remain here.” 

The hesitance was apparent in the troopers, but they slowly came to agreement, spare Chuckles, who seemingly just followed his brothers at this point. 

“It’s settled then, I’ll get the craft ready,” Lyro said. 

“Troopers. Your few belongings are still in your rooms, along with your armor. Fetch them, and you can be on your way,” Laeda said to them. 

As they hurried back, she approached Orren. 

“Are you going with them?” 

“No,” he muttered. 

“May I ask where you _are_ going?” She said. 

“Somewhere green.” 

“Green?” 

“Yes. Where the Force dwells the most. I must leave the public eye behind.” 

“If you need a ship, I can arrange it, just say the word,” she was trying to read him, but to no avail, his expression was stone. 

“Thank you Laeda. Excuse me for a moment.” 

“Of course,” she gave a nod and followed after the clones to ensure they were packed up thoroughly. 

Returning to the hangar bay, Orren pinpointed Lyro and called for him. His senate guards were loading a few boxes aboard the starship as the remaining mechanics began to step away. 

“Change your mind Jedi?” He exclaimed. 

“No, but I must ask if there was anything further you wished to tell me,” Orren pressed. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Since I’m not coming with you, the chances of us meeting again is slim, so I wanted to take the opportunity to ask.” He almost felt compelled by the Force to inquire, as his words confused him when they came out of his mouth. 

“Actually, wait! Come to think of it, yes. I’m glad you mentioned it, or I would’ve forgotten and left here without giving it to you.” 

Orren squinted in curiosity as Lyro ran aboard his ship. His hands remained crossed together beneath his slightly singed robes, another emergency cruiser arriving in the next port over, klaxons wailing in alarm. 

Lyro emerged from the ship and down the ramp about a minute later, holding a small brown bag that was tied tightly at the opening. 

“This,” he offered it to the Jedi. It was heavy, a round object, with distinct grooves on its surface beneath the fabric of the sack. 

“What is it?” 

“I’m not sure..” came the reply, as Lyro signed off on the mechanic’s pad authorizing the work and payment. 

Orren blinked. 

“Where did you.. get it?” 

“Coruscant. I have a few connections to the black market thanks to my family on Taris.” Orren looked suspicious. “And myself being a politician after all,” Lyro attempted the joke dryly but it failed. 

“What interest would I have in a black market find, Senator?” 

“Open it.” 

Orren obliged, and inside he found the answer to his query. 

It was a seed pod, almost wooden in appearance, with gnarled indentations carving their way across the exterior. It was nearly the size of his hands, and looked almost ancient. Within a first glance, he knew exactly what it was. 

“Senator.. who gave this to you?” 

“I-I’m not sure. He didn’t say his name. He was an Ugnaught. Was going around the lower levels selling off looted artifacts from the Jedi Temple, said a few of his best guys managed to get into the lower vaults after it was damaged in battle.” 

“And you bought it, why?” 

“To try and find a Jedi to return it to,” Lyro scratched his head, giving Orren a playful grin. “I don’t think you understand how much I idolized your Order while I was a kid. I grew up hearing the stories. The legends of the lightsaber duels and the Force powers. Hell, I’d never seen a Jedi, but I knew they were real. I just knew.” He paused, as Orren met his eyes. “Moving to Coruscant after being elected Senator, I saw the Temple for the first time, and for a second, my inner kid felt alive again. Then seeing the HoloNet footage of you all leading battles during the war. It was all of the stories coming true.” 

He wiped a tear from his eye. 

“You were like heroes to us growing up on Taris.” 

Orren seemed to understand perfectly, his eyes sparkled looking down at the pod. He wrapped the bag up again and held it close to him, returning his gaze to Lyro. 

“I can imagine so, since you’re from Taris.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“A story for another time, Senator. If we meet again, I’ll tell you.” 

A voice called out to them, interrupting the conversation. 

“Are we ready to depart sir?” 

It was Noble. 

Orren slipped the bag into a hidden pocket, feeling the weight it brought. 

“Looks that way, Captain!” He called back, a smile forming. 

Noble called for his troopers, and they followed him into the hangar bay, slowing on account of his re-learning to walk and chest injury. Their plastoid armor was back on, and they carried their helmets at their waists. 

Despite everything that had happened, the troopers still managed to walk in their traditional lockstep, never missing a beat. 

Lyro watched them. “Magnificent, aren’t they?” 

Orren remained quiet. He felt for the clones. They had been through so much in this war, experienced so much turmoil. Perhaps a respite for their exhaustive journey would be coming soon. 

The Senator turned to usher his guards aboard the ship. The final preparations were complete. He looked back to Orren before boarding. 

“It was good to meet you, Jedi.” 

Orren looked back to him, expression warm and cordial. 

“Thank you for the gift, Lyro.” 

The Senator turned to depart as another word came. 

“And you can call me Orren.” 

Lyro looked back, appearing on the verge of tears, a _Jedi_ allowing him to be on a first-name basis? Wait till his kids heard about this. He could give a simple nod of pride, his face a bright red as he strode aboard. 

Laeda followed the clones, cloak following her like a shadow across the hangar. 

“Looking good,” Orren said to the clones. 

“Hurt a bit to get it back on, but it’ll always fit like a glove,” Noble returned. 

A pause ensued, as they all seemed to be savoring the moment, mechanics and medics rushing around them, cruisers screaming in and out of the hangar. 

“Well, you all best be going. Imperials could show up any time.” 

“You’re.. not coming sir?” Fix asked. 

“My path lies elsewhere, Fix. The Force, while it may feel broken, is still pushing me down my own road. This is where yours diverges.” 

Chuckles only scoffed, shaking his head in dismay, he went aboard the ship, met by kind instructions from Lyro. 

“Sorry about him, General,” Noble said. 

“Don’t be. He lost a friend. We all lost that day,” Orren replied. “I deserve worse from you too, honestly.” 

“You’ve fought and bled with us. We’ll always consider you a brother, General.” 

“Please, the title isn’t needed anymore,” Orren said warmly. 

“Right.. of course.” 

“You were still our leader. And a good one at that. No one could have predicted what happened,” Dynamo said. 

“The 404th Battalion will be remembered as the last heroes of the Republic,” Orren said. Dynamo and Fix nodded in enthusiasm. 

“Wouldn’t they forget about us though? We’re just clones. Numbers,” Karma said. 

“You’re not numbers. You’re _men_. And you’re family. Don’t forget that,” Orren replied. 

Karma looked as if he could hug the man, but only smiled. The others followed in unison. 

“Oh. Before we leave, Laeda, a word?” Fix said. 

“What is it, soldier?” 

“You wouldn’t happen to know if the Separatists _requisitioned_ any of our ships on Quermia, would you?” 

She looked at him with an inquiring eye. 

“They usually like to salvage Republic ordinance and gear, why?” 

“If you could possibly get your hands on Gunship 8411, and.. I don’t know.. _requisition it back_ , could you?” Fix appeared eagerly curious. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Dantooine, right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“I’ll get my people on it for you.” 

“Thank you,” Fix replied. 

Noble lingered, taking in the final words, before turning to his troops. “Ready to go boys?” 

“Yes sir.” Came the reply. 

Noble led the other three up the ramp to the starship, as the departure lights in the bay began to warn of a large-ship takeoff. Laeda moved to Orren’s side to watch them go. 

“Those are some mighty fine men o’yours.” 

“They are.” 

“Gonna miss ‘em?” 

Orren remained silent. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

The faintest hint of a smile crept back onto his face in agreement. While attachment was typically forbidden for Jedi, Orren allowed a small exception this day. For all he knew, he was the only Jedi left. 

The four clones, upon reaching the top of the ramp, turned to face their former General. 

“Atten-tion!” Noble called. “404th Clone Battalion of the Grand Army of the Republic reporting for departure!” They stood at attention on a whim. He continued. 

“General Orren Kara, saluting!” 

“Sir!” The clones echoed. 

The four of them drew their hands up in salute, watching Orren, as the starship’s engines came alive in vigorous energy. The sublight drives reverberated throughout the hangar bay, putting the smaller cruisers to shame as it began its pre-flight takeoff routine. 

The clones remained in salute, giving him solemn smiles of gratitude in bittersweet goodbye as the ramp to the ship slowly began to rise. 

As the ramp lift ascended higher, and Orren felt compelled to return the gesture. 

The Jedi brought his legs together, stood up straight, and raised his hand to the corner of his temple, saluting the men he served with for three years. 

His eyes watered. 

With another outpouring of smoke from the ramp, the last vestige of the clones disappeared from Orren’s view, their eyes never once leaving him as the sublight drives engaged. 

His only surviving family, leaving him. 

Lyro’s starship lifted from the duracrete bay floor and blasted out of the hangar, up into the sky, and out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again -- if you've made it this far, a huge thank you. Things are about to take off. I have much planned for this, including the ending. It may just take a little while to get there. If you enjoyed, or have constructive criticism, please don't hesitate to leave a comment, they're hugely appreciated!!


	6. Empire Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years on, a valuable target is located on Naboo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have now reached the second part of the story! This part should be longer, and really start to move the story forward. It'll be shifting from various perspectives. I plan to start trickling in canon characters in the next chapter, so hold tight if you're waiting for them.

**Second Iteration**

_“Be wary of the dead, for they are not what they seem.”_

* * * * 

**VI**

* * * * 

Naboo - 14 BBY 

Five years post Empire Day 

Thunder. 

Not of the sky, however. 

From the earth. 

Footsteps, marching among each other, deep within the bowels of a picturesque capital city. 

Thousands of penumbral shadows embellished the stone brickwork of Palace Plaza in Theed. The heart of civilization on Naboo, brought to life. 

The residents had Empire Day to thank for that. 

Beneath the Triumphal Arch they funneled, into the open air of the plaza where their celebration and revelry could take a more massive form. 

Dances, celebratory cheers, balloons and signs, masks and painted faces. 

It was a melting pot of species, classes, ages, sexes. It was jubilant. 

The diminishing sunlight cloaked the revelers in a warm embrace, a golden glow that only fueled their desire for pirouettes, songs, and cries. The light made everyone appear as one, and move as one fluid unit, with only one goal: to dance the night away and forget their troubles. 

The sun’s gaze enraptured their movements, breathed life into their form. 

The euphoria was palpable, the merriment was contagious. 

Figures waved streamers from elegant palatial balconies, trumpets blared from nearby marketplaces, young couples snuck off to the hideaway crevices between buildings. 

Yet, in the midst of it all, there were those not partaking in the parade of exuberance. Three, to be exact. 

Into the crowd, they maneuvered, towards the entrance to the Palace Plaza. 

Like three knives cutting against the grain. 

Of them, two were hooded, faces concealed, shadows enveloping their essence. The third was helmeted, identity unseen by the apathetic crowds, vision-plus scanner embedded into their helmet’s side dial. The figure’s stance and body shape resembled a male, and he urged his feet forward as his eyes swept the crowd. 

His helmet’s HUD was doing the hard work, relaying information back to the optic sensors. Faces, eye colors, strands of hair, masks, colored posters, balloons drifting into the afternoon sky. 

The other two, placed elsewhere in the parade, pushed further towards the arch, as the Nabooians making merry simply filed their way past in the other direction. 

The helmeted one spoke first, lifting a wrist comlink to his helmet vocalizer. 

“Do we have a visual?” His voice was a garbled baritone, synthesized into a slightly computerized version of a man. 

Neither of his companions answered his inquiry. He sighed, as his quarry took him under the burgeoning shadow of the Triumphal Arch, basking in the light of the dusky late afternoon. He glanced up at it, studying the features, and returned to the task at hand. 

His wrist crackled. 

“Eyes on the prize, D. We aren’t here to be tourists.” Her voice was stern, yet flowed like a melody after a rainstorm. He noticed one of the hooded ones bringing her wrist down. 

“Sorry.” Came his reply. 

A few teenage girls screamed in song, terribly off-key, a few inches from his helmet. He winced, imagining his ears bleeding from the sound, but shuffled past them nonetheless, emerging into the Tradesmen’s Quarter of Theed. 

“Four coming up, flanking the avenue.” Her voice came quietly this time, but he had no trouble understanding. 

His scanner progressed further into the crowd, analyzing those in the distance. Then he saw what she was warning about. 

Four soldiers, dressed in harsh, white plastoid, stood idle a few meters ahead. Two on either side, monitoring the crowd for illegal substances, perhaps. Their blackened eye visors limited peripheral vision, but enhanced their observations of the parade. 

They stood quiet, solemn. Ready. 

The Empire had taken to giving them a moniker in the years since their inception. 

Stormtroopers. 

The one they called D spoke again, his voice clear. 

“Are these the only four?” 

She took a moment before replying, he looked over the heads of the crowd to see her lift her wrist subtly. 

“From what I can tell.” 

“They’re going to question us.” 

“I have the paperwork.” 

He didn’t reply. He trusted her plan. 

D pushed through a throng of men carrying homemade banners. Some were sympathetic: _“Long Live the Empire,” “Victory for the Boys in White,”_ while others were a bit more on the sycophantic side: _“Glory to Palpatine.”_

“Empire Day.. a joke,” he scoffed, eyes rolling beneath his helmet. 

“I heard that,” the voice replied through his wrist. He had forgotten to mute his microphone. 

“Um.. sorry.” 

A third voice joined the banter. It was also female, but deeper than the first. 

“You should really remember to switch that off when you’re not using it, D.” 

“I know Kya. I know. Thank you,” sarcasm oozed from his voice. 

The roar of instrumentation droned out their fading conversation. A municipal band, decked out in percussion, horns and woodwinds, permeated the atmosphere with royal tunes, most likely hand-picked by Queen Kalanaida, an unwilling loyalist to the Emperor himself. 

The stormtroopers grew closer as they pressed on, and over the course of a minute, the paths of the three converged on each other, and they became a single group wading through a sea of paraders. 

D’s visual HUD scanned the troopers for signs of hostility. There was none. Perhaps just annoyance at being assigned parade duty. Their hands grasped their E-10’s timidly, as if they were about to fall out of their hands. 

A long day it had been for them. Maybe about to get a little longer. 

“Get ready,” a whisper came from under a hood. He could barely hear it, but maintained a casual swagger in his walk, avoiding direct suspicion. 

He bumped into a Gungan on accident, triggering a reaction. 

“Yousa better watch where yousa goin’ ‘less you lookin’ for a peeper blacker than the caverns.” He didn’t look amused. Better yet, he looked drunk. 

“I-- sorry..” D could only murmur. 

“Yousa will be, helmethead.” 

A stormtrooper took notice of the altercation. 

“Break it up, move along,” he called over. The Gungan moved on, waving his hand in dismissal. 

The other troopers remained fixed in their positions, and soon the fourth returned to his as well. The three of them ushered past without hardly a peep from under the white plastoid. 

“Looks like we got lucky today,” D said. 

“Be on your guard anyways, even the slightest move could draw their attention,” came a reply from Kya. 

The trio crossed a bridge that was draped over a feeder canal, one which ran to a stream that gave birth to a waterfall over the city’s cliffs. D found it hard to not look at the beauty of the city itself, but his attention remained forward. 

Kya lifted her hand, and they stopped, the crowd still mobbing their way past them like a flood of debauchery towards the palace. 

“I got something, one o’clock.” 

They turned their gaze, noticing a somewhat short, middle-aged man in a navy blue uniform. His hair was fleeting, growing gray, yet unkempt. The man’s skin was pale from the presumed lack of sunlight, and his movements were somewhat jittery. 

He was only ten meters ahead, moving away from them and against the crowd. 

“Does he match?” D asked. 

Kya kept her eye focused on the target, while their other companion removed a holopuck from her cloak pocket. A hologram of a face appeared from the base of the puck, spinning in clockwise fashion. The features of the man appeared accurate, but he seemed to have aged while on Naboo. 

“We best nab him quickly, let’s avoid any incident,” she said. Kya nodded, and D was the first to step forth towards their goal. 

“That was aimed at you, D,” she joked. D ignored her. 

“We need to get him out of the crowd,” Kya remarked. “He’ll cause a scene if we grab him in public.” 

“You gonna lure him?” D replied. 

“Might not have to, we can spook him,” she glanced at him, and for a brief second he noticed a small smirk under the shadow of her face. 

“Got it, I’ll take a sidestreet. Push him that way,” he said. 

They nodded in affirmative, and he broke off from their course, leaving two. 

“Is he armed?” The other asked Kya. 

“Doesn’t appear to be, but I can’t see what’s beneath his torso, too many people,” Kya said. 

“How are we doing this then?” 

“Make sure he sees us. Move ahead and to the left, Al. I’ll be behind him. Whoever he sees first, remove your hood. He’ll know who we are,” they began to quicken their pace to not lose him. “Pressure him to move off the street and towards D.” 

“Roger,” Al said. 

Kya lifted her wrist, changing the channel. 

“Hey bozo, you asleep?” 

The transmission came through uninterrupted but slightly muffled on the other end. A bald man, half-asleep in the cockpit of a Lancer-class pursuit craft. He was a few klicks from her, parked on one of the spaceport landing pads at the base of Theed’s towering cliffs. He scrambled to catch the comlink. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He shook himself awake. 

“I knew you were sleeping.”  
“No, I _wasn’t_. Just, resting my eyes.” 

“That’s sleeping.” 

“Agree to disagree, are we on?” He asked. 

“Yeah, engines up in ten. We’re gonna push him into Cobbler’s Row. Maintain a low hover, we won’t have long before the Imps notice.” 

“Copy.” 

“Oh and Jol?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t be late this time.” 

He swore silently, tossing the comlink back onto the pilot’s dash, and strapped himself in. 

Back at street level, D had ducked down a damp alleyway. The dripping ductwork from broken gutter systems created a musty environment of mildew and mosswork that crept their way up the superstructure of homes like an invading storm of veins. 

Banking a left down a longer stretch of alleyway, he noticed the structural conditions of Cobbler’s Row deteriorated as he moved further. While Palace Plaza was the centerpiece of Naboo’s public relations and HoloNet broadcasts, the lower districts of the city fared poorer. 

Theed was not all that it seemed. 

Graffiti enhanced the squalid walls of the back passageways. Local artists doomed to never leave the planet made their voices heard where Imperial sympathizers couldn’t often find it. 

_Long Live Amidala._

_Palpatine = Fraud._

_An image of a stormtrooper helmet marred with red X’s._

_The Empire forgot us._

D tried to pay them little mind, but noticing the unflattering artwork of the stormtrooper helmet, he paused, and for a moment, saw his own face in the reflection of the painted plastoid. 

He shrugged it off and moved on, reaching the main plaza of Cobbler’s Row. 

* * * *

Kya’s eyes never left her target. 

Her wrist reached her face again. 

“Al, are you in position?” 

“Yeah, I’m good here.” She was eyeing the crowds from her location, while beneath the hood, her bright green eyes flickered about from person to person. 

“D?” 

A second passed. 

“I’m in Cobbler’s Row now,” came his reply. 

“Alright, let’s take him.” 

She began to cross the crowd diagonally, nearing the man as he hurried towards the rear gates of the inner city. 

He felt the eyes of someone on him and looked over his shoulder. That’s when she pulled her hood down. 

Wild crimson hair flowed from where the hood once was. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost hypnotizing in their stare. He did not fall victim though, and a sense of danger erupted across his expression as he turned back to rush through the partying denizens of the capital. 

Al reappeared from a sidestreet to their left, her hood still drawn over her head. She paced quickly across the crowd towards the fleeing man. He took notice in a short time and veered to the right, towards the less crowded Cobbler’s Row. 

“Playing right into our hands,” Kya commented. “You’re up D.” 

“Copy that.” 

D’s wrist fell to his side as he eyed a squad of stormtroopers making their way up the Row, inspecting hand-drawn carts and vendor produce. 

_This could be a problem_. 

“Kya. We may have an issue.” 

“What is it?” 

“Stormtroopers, five more of them.” 

“ _Shit_.” He heard her whisper through the comlink. 

“We’ll have to do this the hard way then.” 

The stormtroopers were nearly twenty meters away, but close enough to do damage. 

He didn’t have a choice. 

“D, he’s coming through the entryway.” 

“I see him.” 

The man hobbled past a few drinking girls, frequently glancing over his shoulder as he almost tripped over a misplaced stone. D noticed Kya and Al storming up behind him. He would have to make his move quick. 

He sidestepped, staying parallel with the man’s advance, being careful not to draw too much attention until he was within reach. 

He shot a gaze backwards. 

The stormtroopers had moved closer, with no vendors left to stop their patrol down the Row. 

Little time left, he sprung his plan into action as the other two watched him fervently. 

He swiftly moved forward, till the man was within arm’s reach. 

By the time he noticed D’s approach, it was too late to flee. 

D had hoped his improv would work. 

“Father! I told you not to wander the streets this late. Have you been drinking!?” He wrapped his arm tight around the man, keeping him from moving, shooting a look back to his companions. 

“Get your hands off me!” The man cried. He looked around as D held him tight, till he noticed the stormtroopers off to their rear. 

“Troopers! Help me! I’m being kidnapped by these thugs!” 

Two of the troopers looked over, urging their counterparts to investigate. 

“Relax father! I’m going to take you home. You’ve _had a lot to drink tonight_!” D raised his voice, in hopes the stormtroopers would hear it as a personal issue and leave them be. 

But stormtroopers were not known for minding their own business. 

“Hey! You! Hold it right there.” One called out. The other four followed suit as they rushed over. 

“What do we do Kya?” D mumbled. 

Kya looked conflicted, then released a pronounced sigh. 

“What we did last time,” she replied, her hands crossed each other, reaching down for her waist. Al did the same as D hastened his momentum away from the Imperials and down the Row. 

“Wait a seco-..” a stormtrooper muttered. “Blasters! Open fire!” 

Kya withdrew two pistols from their side holsters, alongside Al they unleashed a furious storm of blaster fire on the Imperials, moving to cover behind a line of stone merchant’s benches. 

With screams from passersby, most of the remaining citizens fled the area in a drunken stupor as the stormtroopers took cover behind the corners of businesses. One was struck in the chest by a shot from Al, his body cascaded to the ground in failure. Four remained. 

D, noticing a nearby alley, ducked down it for a moment as he scanned the skies above. Jol had yet to arrive. _Is he late again?_

The man held in his arm attempted to wrestle free, but D’s strength overpowered him rather cleanly. His forehead wrinkled in concern, and a scared frown grew on his face. 

“What is it you want from me!?” 

“The price on your head,” D’s vocalizer spoke. He hated doing this. It wasn’t what they did. But this job could be key to their future. 

He could hear the exchange of blaster fire echoing around the corner. Desperately he yearned to help. But to do so would risk losing their captive. That was off the table. He needed to wait for Jol. 

“One’s missing!” Al called out. Kya noticed it too, only three troopers were firing. Did one run off? 

“Keep suppressing ‘em until Jol shows up. Eyes open, could be a flank!” Kya returned. 

It was then that they heard it. 

Overhead, the low rumble of a ship was heard, and then seen, banking its way over the district to hover low over Cobbler’s Row. Dust whipped in all directions, partially blinding Al as she ducked back down behind the benches to wipe it away. Kya kept the troopers busy as Jol’s ship gyrated down to within twenty-five meters above the streetscape. 

The stormtroopers were struggling to stand their ground against the power of the Lancer’s drive engines. 

D, staying put in the alleyway, noticed the arrival of the ship. Silently congratulating Jol for not being late like he was on Cato Neimoidia, he pushed his captive towards the street. 

“Freeze!” 

The echo came from behind him. 

The voice sounded familiar to D. Subtly familiar. 

But he didn’t think twice about it. 

He turned slowly with his bounty, to face a lone stormtrooper, who had his E-10 locked on them. 

“Release him, and drop to your knees.” 

“I’d rather not, mate.” 

“Now.” He didn’t sound happy. 

D relented, offering a small nod, before apologizing to the man in his armlock. 

“Sorry about this.” 

“Sorry about wh--..” he couldn’t finish. A fist met his clenched jaw, and he found himself sprawled out on the stones, unconscious. 

As the E-10 fired, D dived for the ground towards the trooper, swiping at his legs. The trooper lost his balance and careened downward. 

D knocked the rifle away, watching it slide down a flight of nearby steps. He reached for his own pistol, but the trooper’s foot swung in his direction, and knocked the pistol holster off of its waistband. 

_Impressive_. 

Rising to their feet in unison, the stormtrooper took a swing at him. He ducked, nearly too late, but avoided the connection. 

A quick jab from D connected in the trooper’s chest, sending him back a few feet. He was strong, practicing nearly every day. His yearslong training had never quite thoroughly and adequately trained him for excessive hand-to-hand combat, as if it had quietly acknowledged that brawling was an archaic sport, born from an uncivilized era. 

D disagreed. 

He back-stepped to avoid another incoming punch from the trooper. It was well-placed. Better than most stormtroopers offer. 

Leaning down, D swung outward for the ribcage, his meshed glove protecting his bones from the pain of punching plastoid. The trooper hopped back and offered a kick to D’s outstretched head. Taking advantage, D leaned back and seized the man’s leg to flip him over. Hurrying down on top of him to land an incapacitating blow, he was met with only a roundhouse from the ground. It connected with his jaw, knocking his helmet clean off. 

_Most impressive_. 

Staggering backwards, D’s face came into full view of the trooper. And in response, he paused as he stood back to his feet. 

“What?” D remarked, rubbing his jaw in pain. “Never seen a face this pretty before?” 

The stormtrooper didn’t move, so D again took the opportunity for himself. 

A swift uppercut broke the stormtrooper’s helmet lock, and the traditional white and black bucket sailed into a nearby window. 

Face to face, D realized why his attacker had froze. 

He was looking at himself. 

They both stood there. Idle. Just moments ago with dangerous intent. Now, hesitant. Unsure. Confused, even. 

_He was a clone._

The trooper looked a few years younger than D. While clones aged at twice the normal rate, he was presumably part of one of the final batches commissioned on Kamino. 

D couldn’t speak. So the engines of Jol’s craft spoke for him, aching to leave sub-orbit as Kya’s voice reached his ear. 

“D! Let’s move! Come on!” 

He stepped back slowly, his eyes never leaving his mirror image. Grabbing his loose pistol and grasping the unconscious man by the collar, he dragged him around the corner into the street, and out of sight. 

The trooper, adrenaline draining out of him, released his emotion and slumped down against a mossy wall, tears welling up in his eyes. 

Looking up at Jol’s ship, D saw the mag-rope descending from its cargo bay. Designed to be attached to a metal latch on the wearer’s belt, it allowed for a silky smooth ascension to the waiting ship above for quick extractions. 

“Is he dead!?” Kya called out over the roar of the engines above. 

“Unconscious,” D muttered back. 

“You look like you’ve seen a dead man!” 

“I have.” 

“What?” 

“Ladies first,” Al interrupted, grabbing the mag-rope and latching it onto Kya’s belt. She continued suppressing fire on the two remaining stormtroopers. Another had fallen dead. 

D handed over the limp man to her to take up to the ship. 

“Go.” He said. She looked at him concernedly but capitulated. 

Looking up, he could see Jol’s head peeking out from the cargo bay above. He gave the pilot a thumbs up, and Jol hoisted the two up on the rope as D joined Al in suppressing fire. 

The stormtroopers seemed more occupied on firing at the Lancer now, but it made no difference. The shields did their job. 

D took aim, sending a blaster bolt clean into the shoulder of one assailant. He hit the ground with a thud, clutching at his wound. 

“You’re not shooting to kill!?” Al called out. 

D didn’t respond. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take anymore. 

Al paid no mind to his silence, crawling back to the descending mag-rope, and latched it to her belt as Jol brought her up. He started for the cockpit as she came aboard, taking control of the rope. 

Kya dropped the man against a wall in the cargo bay as she followed him. 

“Jol! If they scramble TIEs we need to be ready to punch it.” 

“Forget it Kya, I’m not jumping to hyperspace over a city.” 

“Would you rather be smoldering on the street instead?” 

“We could be smoldering anyways if we jump this low!” Jol didn’t look at her, taking his seat at the front of the ship, locking in safety harnesses and flipping a few switches. 

“Plot the course. We may not have a _choice_.” Kya emphasized. She turned to leave, fiery mane following her close behind. Jol sighed, punching in coordinates. 

On the street, another squad of stormtroopers had arrived. Six of them. 

_Of course_ , D thought. He wouldn’t kill them, holstering his pistol as he stayed huddled against the safety of the bench, blaster bolts screaming over his head, just inches from his hair. 

The mag-rope descended again as he heard alarms in the ship above. 

“Jol!” Kya cried. “They’re scrambling!” 

“I know! I see ‘em!” His voice called back. 

Two TIE fighters rose from the cliffs behind the palace, four-thousand meters away. 

“They’re gonna cover that distance in no time, get us _out of here!_ ” Kya demanded. 

“Working on it. Get D off that street!” 

Al looked down, D had latched the mag-rope to his belt, and she began to pull him back up. 

“ _Hurry up!_ ” Jol shouted to the cargo bay. He watched the incoming radar. 

Two-thousand meters on the TIE. They were approaching firing range. 

D, ten meters above the ground, held onto the rope for dear life, and glanced down to the alleyway below. He saw the trooper against the wall, his face buried in his hands. 

For a moment, he felt that himself. And the memories flooded back. 

One-thousand meters. 

“ _Come on!!_ ” They heard Jol flailing in the cockpit. The TIEs were closing in. 

D reached the cargo bay, as a few stray blaster bolts nearly missed him. The horrid aim of stormtroopers was never worth bragging about. 

One of the TIEs opened with a warning shot as the cargo bay doors shut. The shot impacted. While the shields held, they wouldn’t for another one. 

Kya yanked the vacuum seal lever down. 

“ _Get us out of here Jol!_ ” She bellowed. 

In the midst of a second, Jol’s hand shot forward on the hyperspace control, and the golden skies of Naboo morphed into a hyperspace tunnel as the second TIE shot streaked through the cloudy form where the Lancer had existed just prior. 

The resulting boom was beyond anything Theed had experienced. It was a surge upon surge of sonic booms, gathered up into one supersonic thunder clap. 

Entire roofs around Cobbler’s Row were catapulted from their structures, shingles and bricks launched like high-speed debris in all directions, windows were blown out, and the stormtrooper squads on the ground were thrown dozens of feet backwards from the blast, garnering injuries of all sorts. 

A nearby botanist’s shop collapsed onto itself, sending foundational support beams imploding into a storm of dust and a pile of rubble on the surface of the street. 

The parade in the center of the city grinded to a halt, as the sudden disruption wracked the ears of all the participants. Water from canals were splashed onto drunken celebrators, enraging some but bringing intoxicated joy to others. 

This was far from a fireworks display. 

* * * *

Less than a parsec from Naboo, the Lancer craft was speeding through hyperspace. 

“Remind me to never do that again.” Jol said as Kya entered the cargo bay. His face, only of about thirty years, had grown exasperated with Kya’s demands. 

“It was either that or be toast. You chose correctly,” she smirked. “Now we can deliver the target to Dyz and be done with this whole thing.” 

“Yeah yeah. If Dyz keeps his end of the bargain.” 

“He will.” 

“You put too much faith in a bacta lord.” 

“You put too little faith in who our target is.” 

Jol paused from his rewiring job and looked up.  
“Alright, who is he then?” 

“Bacta scientist. Top class. Used to be the Republic liaison to the cloners’ medical facilities on Kamino.” 

“What’s Dyz tryin’ to do? Brew his own bacta drink? I’m sure he’d make a fortune.” As sarcastic as his comment was, she took it seriously. 

“I’m willing to bet the target isn’t for him.” 

* * * *

On the other side of the ship, Al was with D in the lounge. He was still silent. 

“Something happen down there D?” 

There came no response. She ran her hand through her chestnut hair and sighed, looking to get his attention. 

“ _Dynamo_.” 

His face contorted, and came close to turning red. 

“I told you long ago Al, it’s D.” 

“You may wanna forget you were a soldier once, but that’s part of who you are. Now tell me. What happened down there?” 

He stood up, moving to the drink machine. Requesting a water fillup for his canteen, she posited another statement. 

“I’ve only seen you look that way once before Dy. When you told us about the war.” 

“Al, can you not.” 

“You saw another one didn’t you?” 

He lifted the canteen to his lips. He gave her an offhanded nod. 

“Bucketheads still using the leftover clones then, I guess.” 

He winced at the term. _Leftover_. As if they were an old meal that had grown stale and had been thrown in the trash, discarded forever. He left it alone and continued drinking. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he only saw the entrance to the Quermian palace. The voices he heard were long since past. 

His eyes returned to the lounge as he took another swig of water. 

“I’m sorry, Dy.” She stood up to leave. 

He watched her go. 

* * * *

In the cargo bay, Kya approached the unconscious bounty, whose eyes were fluttering open. He was groggy and slow to realize his surroundings. 

“You can leave him here in the cargo bay, it’s empty right now anyways,” Jol said from behind her, welding a new piece onto the radiation negator. 

While most Lancer-class pursuit crafts had small cargo bays, during the Clone Wars, Jol saw to it that the bays were expanded, removing part of the mess lounge to accommodate. 

His career depended on the space. 

All of their careers did. 

Smuggling bacta was no easy feat, yet the craft’s expanded bay could hold up to a hundred barrels per load, making it an ideal treasure for pirates and Imperial scouts alike. 

Unlike most bacta smugglers, they did not operate under the umbrella of a cartel. Rather, they moved freely on their own accord, ferrying bacta from Imperial outposts and convoys, to those in need living in impoverished communities on urban worlds and those often overlooked by the galaxy at large. 

The Undergrowth on Taris. The Skyslums on Nar Shaddaa. The Lower Levels of Coruscant. All had their poor, their sick, their wounded. 

The bacta was a lifeline, revitalizing lives that were scarred from wars past, economic downturn, work accidents, anything that led to bodily injury. 

Contrary to popular belief in the galaxy, bacta treatment wasn’t readily available and cheap for the populace. The Imperial war machine hoarded vast amounts of it and regulated all of the rest. 

So these four brought the bacta under the cloak of night, the shroud of secrecy. 

Hoping it would save at least one life in the process. 

This had gained them a sort of notoriety. Their friends called them the “Sapphire Angels,” remarking upon the distinct blue color of bacta. 

Unfortunately, they had far more enemies than friends in their line of work. 

Their enemies simply called them scum. Unworthy to join a cartel. 

Perhaps having a heart in the galaxy was the one thing that separated friend from foe. 

These sorts of existential questions, however, were never pondered upon by the group. They did what they could for those in need, and that was it. 

Then Dyz called. With a fortune they couldn’t pass up. Enough credits to start anew. To secure a future. They just had to nab one target. 

This was their way out. 

Until it wasn’t. For one of them anyway. 

It was his way back in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned this story as being a three part tale with an epilogue. Most of the main plot threads will tie together at the end of the second part to prepare for the final part. But I have a ways to go before I get there. Thanks to anyone who has stuck around or left kudos! This is my first work, and I'm nervous about it. Since it doesn't fall into the traditional pairings/smut category and was more a character drama, I was worried how it would be received.


	7. The Lonely Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face searches for a lost mystery, as the plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon characters return!

**VII**

* * * * 

Ossus - 14 BBY 

Vegetative debris cluttered the jungle floor. Birds cried out in the distance, singing in harmonious celebration for the storm’s passing. 

The smell of rain was intoxicating, lingering on the fresh leaves like dew after a springtime morning. Humidity clung in the air, leaving the verdant rainforest a hive of moisture and evaporating mist. 

Winding branches and roots enveloped the trunks of colossal Ossuan Jalok trees. Their broad root systems surging through subterranean tunnels and carving out paths of bark and fibrous wood for hundreds of feet in every direction. 

The gentle breeze had quickened into a steady wind, gusting in the aftermath of a powerful monsoon that had swept across Ossus’ equatorial regions. 

A sole being stood at the edge of an elevated clearing and noticed the changing currents. 

She lifted her head to meet the parting of the clouds. 

The prevailing winds caught the tails of her gray cloak, and it fluttered in her wake like a kite dancing over endless tides of ocean. 

As the mists lifted, the luscious landscape beneath her came into full view. A vista unlike perhaps any other in the galaxy. 

She gazed out over endless tropical wilderness, buffeted by flat-faced granite mountains, rising up from the earth like pillars and carving vertical canyons through the misty forests. 

Fog engulfed the mountain peaks, which rose far into the heavens, coalescing with the tempestuous cloud deck. They were thousands of years old, drawing from the raw energy and lifeblood of the ancient world itself. 

Eyeing the departing rainclouds, she removed her hood, and it fell limp against her shoulders, synthcloth distasteful for such oppressive humidity. 

The wind embraced her youthful skin and cooled it from the heat of the day. While she was young, she carried a mature resolution, one which hid the weariness of many difficult years. 

Sunlight trickled in between holes in the tree canopy, warming the saturated ground further and continuing the cycle of a vibrant ecosystem. 

One such ray of sunlight tracked down to her face, illuminating the facial markings that distinguished her from other members of her people. 

Soaking in a final observation, she advanced onward, boots crunching in the overgrowth of the jungle floor. 

One would worry that the sounds of her footsteps would draw attention, perhaps an enemy hiding among the brush, a predator lurking in the foliage. 

But no. She was perhaps the only sentient lifeform for hundreds of kilometers. And this didn’t bother her in the slightest. 

Ahsoka Tano tread alone. 

Oftentimes, she enjoyed the peace that a lonely expedition would bring. The Togruta sought peace, locales to silently meditate in between the frenetic pace of her assignments. The burgeoning movement brought about by Senators Organa and Mothma threatened to swallow her whole. 

Here, she could find solace. She desperately wanted to. 

But today, she was here to find answers. 

As the native wildlife danced between the shrubs, Ahsoka surged through a patch of floral abundance to emerge alongside a flowing stream. Water gracefully parted and ducked around smooth stones, embedded into the streambank for likely hundreds of years. Ossal lilies dotted the edges, blossoming white petals signaling the prosperity of their habitat. 

She paused, as a whiff of the alien flowers drifted through her space. It was a clean, life-blooded scent, and brought clarity to her. 

The renewed purity in her spirit sent a surge of vigor into her lungs, and with one breath she leapt across the stream, boots firmly planting on the opposite bank, and she pushed on. 

Deep within her core, she felt her destination approaching. Drawing upon the Force for guidance, her path meandered through the profuse thicket, under fallen trees, over gnarled roots and through nests of vines. One would feel lost in such a scenario, but she felt only one path. 

Securing her way through another patch of crowded Jalok trees, she stood at the edge of a massive clearing. 

Viridescent longgrasses swayed in the direction of the winds, bending ever so gently to allow the airflow to pass through their stalks. She stood surrounded by them, yet had no compulsion to bend like they did. She only gazed up. 

At the base of the mountain before her, was a massive pyramidal structure. Ancient and chiseled stonework constructed in an elaborately methodical manner, it was slowly being reclaimed by the wilds that encompassed it. Stalks and stems invaded its once secure outer facade, while moss and lichens created swarms of inanimate life that occupied the exterior columns dotting the perimeter of the superstructure. 

Broad-faced window formations lined the pyramid near the base, but rising to the pinnacle, it was nothing but primitive stone, aging like a relic of a bygone era. 

The sole entrance, a cavernous and hollow opening at the front of the pyramid, had its doors cracked and smashed, lying alone on the ground like two broken tablets, never to be read from again. 

The grand approach to the pyramid was, apparently, once majestic. Regal statues accompanied a once-existing pathway, now completely submerged beneath a sea of soil and plant life. 

A few statutes were decapitated, others were toppled completely, their original form was lost underneath twisted and creeping vegetation that ensnared nearly all of what once was. 

She lingered on the sight for just a moment, feeling the Force’s presence surround her. 

It was strong here. Perhaps stronger than anywhere she had ever felt, save the temple on Coruscant. It felt truly alive here, in a time of darkness. 

The device in her cloak pocket sputtered and produced static. She fetched it and waited for the voice to come. 

Static clearing, she heard him loud and clear. 

“Fulcrum. Have you found it?” 

She sighed. 

“Captain, you don’t have to call me that here. Really.” 

“Oh-.. uh, right. Sorry Ahsoka.” She sighed again. He was just following his orders. 

“Yes, I did find it.” 

“Good. Should I make another rotation? That should give you another hour or two.” 

“One more will be fine. Thank you.” 

“Copy that. Over and out.” 

The garbled static cut away, and once again she was plunged into the sounds of nature. 

Bail was especially lenient in letting his best corvette go on an expeditionary mission. Perhaps it was her nagging that made him give in. Or perhaps he sensed just how important this was to her. 

No matter, she was here now, and needed to figure out what was going on. 

Taking her first steps towards the pyramid, perhaps only fifty-meters off, she eyed the formation of the statues, the columns surrounding the structure, and the stonework itself. 

_Just like how it was in my vision_. 

The same one that had been plaguing her for weeks. She considered the Force was trying to tell her something, but what that was had yet to be discovered. 

She had seen this place. Better yet, she had been to it. It was visceral in her mind. Every step, every branch, radiant bloom, and gust of wind had been felt before. 

Ahsoka knew the planet well, although she had never visited. During her days as a padawan, the masters of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant would speak to the younglings about the origins of their order. The birthplace of their guiding faith. 

Some speculated it was on Tython. Others posed Ach-To as a suitable candidate. A few more suggested Coruscant. 

But the vast majority were convinced it was Ossus. 

A small jungle planet, just within the clutches of the Outer Rim and a few parsecs from Rhen Var and Felucia, Ossus was far more than just a tourist destination. 

It was a site of holy reverence, home to vast centuries of history, teaching, and knowledge. Significant could not even begin to describe it. 

And here she stood, before the original temple. The place that started it all. 

Or, what was left of it. 

In another time, her master promised he would take her there. He had never been either, and was insistent that they visit when the war was over to find what old lore still remained. 

That time never came. 

Now she entered alone, a single spectre pacing against an imposing testament to time, one of the last of the Force’s true disciples. 

Approaching the original stone doorway, a cold draft trailed out from the temple’s ingress that left her with a slight shiver. A chilly contrast to the sweat that still clung to her brow. 

Taking a final gaze at the towering pyramid before her, she took the final steps to reach the entranceway, and took a glimpse inside, stepping over the ruins of the old door. 

The hood that was draped across her shoulders returned to her head, mantling her montrals and keeping the heat within her robe as the brisk, damp air of the temple clasped her gingerly. 

Broken strands of cobwebs hung from the corners of the monolithic corridors. She noticed vaguely, noting it as odd, but nonetheless she persisted further inside. 

She did not have to go far to enter the main atrium of the deserted temple. A massive, hollowed out entrance hall that spanned dozens of meters in height and width, and an expansive floor that took up much of the structure’s interior. 

Faint streaks of light were shining in from the outside. Windows were positioned along the moss-infested walls, though they appeared to have been mostly broken over time. Once made of glass, perhaps, or something stronger. 

The floor itself was elaborate, a perfect circle with notable runic shapes etched into the outer ring. Empty holes adorned the spaces between the runes, every meter or so. 

_Once holding gems or minerals of value, this place might have been ransacked._

Seeking a better inspection of the runes, she withdrew her shoto lightsaber. With a simple flick of her index finger, a white flame discharged from her clenched hand. 

Ahsoka held the lightsaber to the floor, reading across some of the runes. Dirt and mud had caked within some of them, making them impossible to read. Others, though, were manageable. The remnant language derived from old Dai Bendu. 

Her hand ran across the carvings, pausing to stroke her finger against their mud-caked remains and translate them, one by one. 

_There is no em_tion. There is peace._

_Th__e is no ignorance. __er_ is knowledge._

_There is no ____. There is serenity._

_There is no ch_os. _here is har__ny._

_There __ no death. There is the Force_. 

The Jedi Code. Alive and well to this day, thousands of years later. 

_Perhaps there was some error to this thinking_ , she thought, musing upon the Order’s fall. 

Standing back to her feet, she continued on, into an interior antechamber beyond the atrium. 

Her comlink crackled for a moment, and then went silent. Her descent into the temple left her seemingly out of communication range for her ship in the atmosphere. 

The Temple was built well. 

Seeking her quarry, she came upon a set of steps, running perpendicular to the atrium. Seeking what hopefully lay at the foot of the flight, she carried her boots down, dust giving way in her wake. 

A steady drip of water echoed somewhere in the lower chamber. She paid it no mind, keeping her shoto saber drawn for a light source, as the main floor windows could no longer help. 

Beneath the main atrium, was another expansive room, matching the floorplan of the level above. A circular floor was laid about, only this time, the entire floorpiece was missing. 

She knew why. 

The Jedi Order had the ancient mosaic taken apart and moved piece by piece to be reassembled at the new temple on Coruscant. There it lay for thousands more years until now, Palpatine himself could rip it up and disintegrate it. 

She only winced at the thought of the Emperor, and her mind drew back to the visions that flooded her mind in the days leading up to this one. 

_This room looks identical. The darkness. The drip of the water. The missing mosaic. It must be just beyond this._

Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed, finding a sliver of light at the opposite end of the room. A narrow, vertical strip of light that ran from the ceiling to the floor. 

Above the door, lay another set of runes. 

She could not understand these. They were in a different alphabet completely. Her brows furrowed in frustration, as she decided to inspect the next room. 

Treading carefully across what remained of the ancient mosaic, she approached the final doorway, and held her saber to it for closer examination. 

There did not appear to be an opening mechanism or direct way in. She threw her shoulder against the rock-built door and gave a good push, and it creaked open in response. 

The source of the light was noticeable immediately. 

Two massive crystals lay hanging via chains on either side of the subterranean chamber. One was blue, the other was red. 

_Are those,_ kyber _crystals?_ She mused. Remarkably similar to the crystals on Ilum that Jedi younglings would take to craft their first sabers. These crystals were gargantuan, and appeared untouched, despite the slow rusting of the chains. They were held well. 

In the center of the room, stood a wide platform, surrounded by empty darkness. A deep shaft, falling an immeasurable distance to an unsavory death below. 

At the center of the platform, her target supposedly remained. 

_Alone on a pedestal, chained to the unknown, it stood immobile, Without motion. In stasis. For how long, nobody knew. It’s face could not be seen. It’s voice could not be heard. It lived under a shadow, with a head hanging limp._

She could see the pedestal before her, holding out the white saber for a clearer view. 

But nothing was there. 

All that remained, were four broken chains, dangling from the pedestal and subsequently ran off the edges of the platform. 

_It’s gone_ , she thought. 

Then she noticed. 

Strewn along the darkened sides of the walkway that led to the platform, were heads. 

Not just any heads. 

Stormtrooper heads. 

Desecrated white helmets, scattered randomly along the edges of the floor. Bits of blood smeared across the mouthpieces and visors. Heads most likely still within them, their spirits never given a proper eulogy. 

Ahsoka wanted to panic. 

But she couldn’t. She drew a breath, and found calm for a moment, bringing her lightsaber back to the platform ahead of her. Not believing her eyes, she now seemingly knew what had transpired here. 

_The Empire_. 

They got here first. 

And now? 

They were gone. Along with _it_. 

She reached for her comlink, only to be met with static. She needed to return to the surface. 

A faint noise came from behind her. Like the pitter-patter of a footstep. 

She turned on her heels, saber against the darkness. She couldn’t see more than twenty paces ahead, back through the door she came through, which had a smattering of bloody handprints sprawled across it. 

Inhaling sharply. She drew upon the Force. Concentrating deep in the temple’s depths, her first step forward came with ease, then the second, and the third. Like conscious clockwork. 

Through the Force, Ahsoka felt the air around her. It was unsettled, disturbed. Something wasn’t right. She attempted to feel the past moments of this place, but they would not appear. 

What was once here, is now gone, and left a trail of carnage in its wake. 

But _what was it?_

Her visions did not entitle her to the clarity she sought. They only gave the faint glance, the brief perception of the being itself. She could not interpret these visions alone any longer. With an apparent threat broken from its chains, she needed to consult another. 

She pictured stormtroopers being cut down, slaughtered like small animals. Such ferocity. 

The power it must hold to leave stormtroopers like this. With fresh blood decorating their manicured and imperialistic helmets. 

Then, for just a fleeting moment, the feeling of being watched crept through her body. Something lingered in the bowels of the temple. Something primordial. 

Her pace quickened. 

She felt inadequately prepared for such a confrontation, and wished to avoid it until she knew what had happened. 

Reaching the mosaic, she tip-toed across, avoiding much noise herself. The white glow from her shoto led the way back to the flight of stairs, and up to the atrium once more. 

Water endlessly dripped in the background. As she ascended, the sound died away. 

The shadows cast by the windowed light had grown a bit. She had been down below for longer than she realized. 

Turning back a final time out of caution, she saw nothing, and pressed for the entrance. 

Assuming the stormtroopers were behind the broken doorway -- or something else -- she reached for her comlink again upon reaching the warm embrace of daylight. 

“Raymus.” 

Static ensued. 

“Raymus, are you there? It’s Ahsoka, come in.” 

“Ahsoka! Thought you’d never call. I was getting worried. How’s it going?” 

“The Empire’s been here. I’m gonna need a lift out. There isn’t much more I can do right now.” 

There was a silence. 

“Raymus?” 

“Y-yeah, sorry. You said the Empire?” 

“Yes.” 

“What would they want with a place like this?” 

She knew the Empire was led by a Sith Lord. But she decided to refrain from indulging him further. 

“I’m not sure. I’ll send you my coordinates for the flight pod. There’s a large enough space for extraction in this clearing.” 

“Alright. Antilles out.” 

She punched in a few numbers into her wrist pad and re-attached her saber to her belt. 

The wind had picked up in her absence above-ground. The longgrasses that painted the temple meadow with green hues swayed continuously to the north as the gusts whistled between the trees. 

Ahsoka’s gaze drifted up the stonework of the temple to the pinnacle. She surveyed its condition for signs of structural defects or sabotage. 

She saw nothing, and only sighed as her eyes returned to the horizon, met by a rolling canopy of mist-covered jungle. 

Erupting from the clouds, nosediving to the green rock below, was the flight pod sent to fetch her. 

Approaching the temple, it scanned the meadow for a suitable landing zone and rested its gear on the soft earth, lowering a ladder for her to climb inside. 

With only enough room for one person and emergency rations, Ahsoka felt somewhat cramped. The claustrophobic interior of the pod itself was overlooked for the fact that it was a simple segue from planet to ship above, which was too large to land in the jungle. 

“Ascending now Raymus,” she whispered into the com. 

“See you in a few,” came the reply. 

The pod’s landing gear retracted, and it rose to zoom back into the atmosphere where it came from. 

Her eyes never left the temple below, like a gray spot in a sea of green, her mind still lingering on what she found, and _didn’t_ find inside of it. 

Rising above the clouds and towards open space, her focus transferred to the looming ship before her, making its third clean rotation around Ossus. 

The cream colored Corellian corvette, the pride of Alderaan’s senator and his queen. 

The _Tantive III_. 

The docking officer spoke cleanly across the communication channel to her, obeying simple protocol. 

“Initiating docking procedures.” 

The pod slipped up into its vacant slot, alongside twelve of the ship’s escape pods, and the docking had completed. 

Door whizzing open, steam let forth into the sobering white corridors of the corvette. 

Ahsoka’s first step out of the pod was met with a familiar beeping. She turned. 

One of her oldest friends. 

“Hey there Artoo.” Her hand grazed the dome of the blue and white astromech, trailing off into empty air. 

The droid chirped a reply, and quickly wheeled after her strides. 

Not going far, she navigated down a side passage to a lone entryway. 

The door to the ship’s briefing room opened without effort on Ahsoka’s part. Someone was already expecting her. 

“Ahsoka.” Raymus Antilles rose to the occasion, clapping his hands together. “Timely as always.” His playful sarcasm amused her. 

She smirked. “Thanks to your quick retrieval.” She paused, considering how much she should tell him. 

“Did everything go as planned?” 

“Not quite,” she returned. “I need to speak with Bail. It’s rather urgent.” 

He nodded slowly, albeit hesitant. 

“Alright. One moment.” His figure found the seat beneath him again and he played with the console before him. 

Within moments, a hologram appeared, and the briefing room darkened. 

“Leave us,” Raymus remarked to the nearby security officer. He obliged silently. 

Facing Raymus, the hologrammed figure stood, posturing regally. 

“What is it, captain?” 

“Are you in a secure location, Senator?” 

“One moment.” Ahsoka watched him disappear briefly, his voice crackling faintly, “everyone, may I have the room for a moment?” 

Within seconds, he returned, this time facing her. 

“Ahsoka. How did it go?” 

Bail Organa was clean cut, polished and trimmed down to the last Alderaanian garment embellishment. His face was warm -- as usual -- and demeanor was noble. Ahsoka was quite fond of the Senator, as his persistence and honorable spirit reminded her of another she once knew. 

“I’m not sure.” Her face contorted into confusion. “I couldn’t find it.” 

“Find what? What you told me you felt?” 

She hadn’t told him all of it, only that something was there that she felt was important. 

“Yes. I believe the Empire was behind this.” 

He took a bit to process the information, fingers stroking his beard. 

“Are you sure?” 

_The blood on the stormtrooper was fresh. She could almost smell it. Envisioning their fate was not pleasant, and she suspected the manner of their killing was brutal._

“I am.” 

“Well, that confirms my long-held suspicion. The darker forces within the Empire must be pulling the strings to acquire any artifacts related to the Force.” 

“But _why_ is the question,” she pondered. 

Raymus sat in silence, watching the exchange between the two with intense curiosity. Any matters they discussed, he was always sworn to secrecy. He eyed Artoo, who was parked loyally beside his friend. 

“That is something for you to answer Ahsoka. I am but a simple senator. You are a Jedi.” 

“I _was_ a Jedi.” 

“I still believe you may be the one best-suited to deciphering this. I can leave Raymus in charge of your intelligence assignments while you dig deeper, how does that sound?” 

“I’m not sure I can do this without others, Bail.” 

“By others you mean-..” 

“Force users. There were ancient patterns down there that I couldn’t quite figure out. It was a place of great mystery. Of great power.” She only frowned, eyes falling to the floor. “But there aren’t many of us left.” 

Bail was silent, in deep focus. Her eyes returned to him. 

“What is it?” She finally asked. 

“I have a friend. On Raxus Secundus.” 

_Raxus Secundus? The old capital of the Separatists?_ Her mind drifted to her previous visit there, in a different time. 

“Go on.” 

“Her name is Laeda. She leads a medical team. Nonpartisan, neutral. I think she may know where to find someone who can help you.” 

Ahsoka’s brow piqued in interest. _Another Jedi? And he chooses only_ now _to tell me? Let’s hope he isn’t hiding anything else_. 

She only took a second to mull it over. 

“You have my attention.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve introduced Ahsoka. This was planned from the start, along with a few others, these are definitely not random additions. While the main story is still about the clones and Orren, she has an important role to play in the overall story, and this subplot will tie in nicely with the others at the end. She is one of my favorite characters, so, given the time period, I wanted to explore more of her story between TCW and Rebels and how that could tie in with these other characters. This is where things really start to get interesting for me in terms of the plot threads.


	8. Paper Pushers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three clones wrestle with the lack of action on their new home planet.

**VIII**

* * * * 

Dantooine - 14 BBY 

Faint beads of sweat harmonized on his face. 

His pulse was quickened, but steady. 

Footsteps undulating in a methodical pace, sloping down to meet the floor and rising up. 

Rinse and repeat. 

His morning jog was nothing out of the ordinary. Passing numerous familiar faces in the passageways that were carved out underground. Intelligence officers, communications specialists, security personnel, the likes of whom were all pleased to see him out and about. 

“Morning captain.” 

“Workin’ up a sweat there, sir.” 

“Good morning sir.” 

“Looking good!” 

“Catch you at the briefing, Cap.” 

He broke through a crowd of six intel officers, all rather young. They were probably just the new recruits. 

Eyeing the intersection ahead, he noticed the face of a friend. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going for a run?” The person called out to him. 

“Slips my mind.. Every time Daal.” He replied between breaths. 

“Shame. I would’ve gotten up and watched.” They chuckled, his friend giving him a slap on the shoulder as he ran on. 

Fourteen minutes in, he still had sixteen left to go. 

But he didn’t mind. This was his escape. 

Labyrinthian in its construction, the sprawling complex encompassed nearly two square kilometers beneath level on Dantooine. A maze of tunnels and tubes carrying staff from briefing rooms to control centers and everywhere in between, the structure was, at times, a bit claustrophobic. 

He had no issues getting around, however. Between ferrying intelligence reports and his morning rungs, he had learned to navigate it well over the years. 

It had become home. 

Pausing outside the east wing mess hall, he took a breath and a moment to compose himself, wiping the sweat from his brows. 

A passerby stopped to grab his attention. A short woman with a stack of manila folders in her arms. 

“Captain.” 

“What is it?” He exhaled sharply, resting his hands on either hip. 

“You’re needed in the command center.” 

A sigh. 

“Urgency?” 

“As soon as you can, sir.” 

“Thank you. At ease.” The girl hurried off to her destination, while he paced forward towards the command center. 

Situated at the center of the hypogean compound, the command center acted as the brain for the kilometers of tunnels that served as the central nervous system for Bail Organa’s intelligence network. 

For five years the captain had given his service to Organa’s small movement. But it was blossoming. 

In time, he hoped, it would become something more. 

Following the crowded corridors down a strict path, memorized over years of running it, he descended into the hub of the operation, like trailing through a capillary vessel on his way to the heart. 

Outside the south entrance doors to the command center, he peered in through the plexiglass. He saw the one responsible for requesting his presence. He had hoped it was not another paperwork order. 

The door whirred open, and in he went. 

The man in question stood upon a central platform, raised above the rest of the room by a step or two. On all sides, he was flanked with rows of screens, holographic projections, HoloNet footage, scouting maps, and archival data for recordkeeping. 

It was only when the door shut behind him, was when he was noticed. His superior officer turned to face him. His mirror image. 

The renowned and stalwart leader of the Grand Army of the Republic’s 501st Legion. The right hand man to the legendary Jedi General Anakin Skywalker. One of the most decorated heroes of the war. 

Commander Rex. 

“Noble.” 

“Sir.” 

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your run.” He offered a casual smirk. 

“No worries sir, I was almost through.” 

“Right. Well, I know you may not like another assignment on top of your others, but I have something for you.” 

Noble blinked. 

“More paperwork?” 

“In a way. But more interesting than what you’ve been given previously.” 

“Just say the word, Commander.” 

Noble watched him further as he leaned across a control panel to grab a folder, nearly overflowing with files. He stepped down from the platform to hand it over. 

“I want you to find out as much about this place as you can. Use our backdoor access into the Imperial Archives, the password is in the folder.” 

CT-7567 turned and retreated back to his post. 

“There a timeline on this?” Noble asked. 

“Senator Organa wants a detailed report by the end of the week,” Rex replied. The clone’s hardened face had softened a bit from war-time. But even during an age of relative peace, his resolve could not have been stronger. 

“Senator Organa wants _me_ to brief him?” Noble was confused. Normally, the intelligence officers would do the briefings, not him. Honestly, he still wasn’t quite sure what his official role was at the base, despite five years of honest work for Organa. 

“Aye. That’s right,” Rex answered. “There’s some Jedi business in there. You and I both worked with ‘em once, but considering I’m up to my waist in backlogged Outer Rim reports, I decided to trust you with it.” 

Noble gave him a small smile as a thanks. _Finally something exciting_. 

Turning to leave for the south corridor, Rex called back. 

“Captain.” 

“Sir?” 

“Drinks tonight?” 

The two clones grinned at each other. Noble nodded in simple affirmation, and both returned to their tasks at hand. 

The door opened and shut like clockwork, and Noble was back in the corridors, folder in hand. 

Taking a shortcut to his quarters, he dwelled on the idea of doing something a bit more meaningful than he had been before. 

Five years on -- what seemed like ten to him -- and Noble had still felt like a glorified paper-pusher. Bail had promised him that he’d lead the security forces at the compound on Dantooine, but that vision never came to fruition as the years drew on. 

The hideaway simply had no external threats. They were completely off the grid, were locked tight under the surface of the planet, and the galaxy was in its most widespread time of peace in over ten years. 

That wasn’t to say it was Bail’s fault. It wasn’t. Nobody was really to blame for Noble’s relegation. He still held his title from the war, his combat record, his decorations, all that jazz. But something felt _missing_. 

Being an enhanced errand boy -- overseeing briefings, running records across base, performing weekly security examinations, and protocol adherence inspections -- just felt too menial for a man who was once flinging thermal detonators into crowds of super battle droids and wrestling durasteel opponents with his bare hands. 

Even Rex, who entered Organa’s service almost a year after him, with title and all, was mainly an overseer of operations at the facility. A scaled up base commander. The man often complained to Noble about the lack of action. The depths of their boredom had been reaching new lows almost daily. They had to keep reminding themselves: _It’s for a good cause_. 

But alas, it was their life now. 

* * * * 

Ascending a turbolift to the surface, Noble found himself greeted by fleeting notes of daylight, falling to hide behind a distant mountain range as Dantooine’s sun fell lower. 

The ground level facility was far smaller than the one below, it served simply as a reconnaissance and transportation hub for the intelligence network. Perhaps only a clique away, were the twinkling lights of a spaceport, and its adjacent settlement. 

After hours of duty, he was free. 

Renting a speeder, he piloted his way across the windswept prairie, kicking up rocks and dust against the power of the repulsorlift engines, his eyes set on the town before him. 

It was typical, and had become customary. He would speed into Khoonda, the only major spaceport in the northern hemisphere, rendezvous with Rex, and they’d unwind after the events of another dull week. 

This week was no different. Their meeting spot, always the same. 

Parking the speeder at the vehicle center, just a ways from the cantina, he zig-zagged through the convoluted backstreets of the port, wandering past shady dealers and arguments in various languages. In the distance, he could hear the cries of children, and animals at the town stables. 

Emerging into a somewhat cleaner side of town, he strode up to a hovel built of sturdy duracrete, appearing relatively newer in construction than surrounding homes in the district. 

A brief rap on the door, and it opened in response. 

Noble was greeted by those much smaller in stature than him, attacking at either of his legs. 

“Uncle Noble!” They exclaimed. 

The two children, both twins, wrapped themselves around his legs, eyes fixated on his own. They were precious, and meant the world to him. 

“Kids!” He replied. His voice was tweaked to be a bit higher in pitch. 

“You’re here to see daddy, right?” The boy asked him. 

“Right you are buddy,” Noble said, ruffling the child’s hair. Both boy and girl unlatched themselves from him and ran off into the next room, calling something unintelligible. 

Noble stepped inside and shut the door, thankful for the circumambient heat of the dwelling as the temperature dropped outside. 

Following the children down the hall into the kitchen, he was met with the face of an old friend. His oldest, perhaps, since they were boys, training side by side on Kamino. What seemed like forever ago. 

Karma. 

“Hey there, old man. Glad you could make it.” His counterpart grinned. 

“Not like I haven’t made it the last two years, old man.” Noble returned, loosening his coat and draping it around a chair at the kitchen table. 

Karma clapped his hand on the Captain’s shoulder, eager for a drink. 

“Rex behind you?” 

“He said he’d be a few minutes late.” 

“Right.” 

The children jumped at their father’s waist, looking for attention. 

“Alright kids, go find your mother. Tell her Uncle Noble’s here.” They quickly obeyed, surging into an adjacent room, yelling the name of their mother. 

Noble still had to double take at the boy from time to time. He was a spitting image of his father, with occasional hints of his mother sneaking in as well. 

The two men sat at the table, across from each other. Two seats on either side of them remained free. At the center, a pitcher of spotchka and three glasses sat ready for the gathering. 

“How’re things going?” Karma asked him, popping the cork to the spotchka. 

“You know how they go Karm,” Noble started. Since arriving on Dantooine half a decade prior, the clones were a bit lost for ideas when it came to crafting identities. Dynamo reduced his name to just a letter, Noble and Fix opted to keep theirs, and Karma simply shortened his to Karm. 

“Yeah? Still dragging on with no shit to do eh?” Karma smirked, taking a glass from the center and filling it with blue. 

A smack on the back of his head got his attention. 

“Karm! The children are _still awake_ , you’d do best to watch your mouth.” His wife entered the room, trailed by the two little ones. 

“Sorry Sala. You know Noble brings out the worst in me.” He could only laugh, giving his friend a playful glance.  
“I can see that. Good to see ya Noble. Fancy spy work still treatin’ you okay?” 

“I’m managing so far. Thanks Tala.” They exchanged smiles and she moved to grab a few food capsules and put them into cold storage beneath the counter. 

Noble had always admired her. Her spirit was strong and she never took no for an answer. She was a perfect foil for Karma. 

As for her beauty, it was often understated, but could easily be noticed. 

Long mahogany locks flowed down to her mid-back, and her dark brown eyes never failed to win over her husband in an argument. Her skin was smooth and tanned, devoid of freckles or blemishes, and her jawline came to a fine point. Tala’s expression was often soft and cordial, but could occasionally take the form of a stern mother, when her children disobeyed or spilled some blue milk in the kitchen. Rather short in stature, she was nearly a foot shorter than Karma, but retained much in the way of sheer willpower and devotion to her family. 

Delicate yet feisty. A glass cannon. Her presence was felt in every room she entered, and lingered long after she left. Today was no different. Her pleasant gravitas lifted Noble’s spirits and put him more in the mood to drink with his colleagues. 

Karma’s daughter approached the table as her father offered Noble a glass to drink. Grabbing it, he looked at her and smiled. 

“Daddy says we have to go to bed early tonight. He says we have to be ready for tomorrow.” While Noble eyed a few of Karma’s -- and his own -- defining features in the girl, she was _definitely_ Tala’s daughter. 

“Where will you go tomorrow?” Noble asked her. 

She gave a cheeky grin, trying to hide the obvious excitement on her face. 

“We’re going to the mountains for a picnic.” She whispered, as if hiding a secret. 

“The _mountains_?” Noble asked curiously, sipping his spotchka. “That’d oughta be fun.” 

“You should come Uncle Noble!” 

“Yes, come!” The boy engaged himself in the conversation as well. 

Noble chuckled, wiping a blue stain from his upper lip. 

“I have some paperwork to go through tomorrow, I wish I could.” 

The children looked dejected, taking after their father, who also seemed disappointed by this. 

“Aw c’mon Cap. It’ll be fun. Just a few hours’ distraction from those folders of yours.” 

“This one’s high priority Karm. You know I would if I could.” 

Noticing the frowns on the little ones, Noble leaned down to their eye level, perking up their chins with his index fingers. 

“No frowns allowed.” He tried enticing them to smile again. “I’ll come next time, I promise. You four are gonna have a great time.” 

“Okay..” The boy said, turning to head to bed. His sister followed a few moments later. 

“Goodnight Tali, goodnight Tyno,” Noble called to them. 

“Goodnight..” they muttered in unison, voices marred by despondency. 

The Captain felt bad. But he knew he had an important job to do. 

“Don’t worry Cap, they’ll get over it.” Karma said, pouring himself a drink. 

“Aye, they’re tough little ones. They just love their Uncle Noble,” Sala added, winking to Noble before swooping in and planting a soft kiss on the cheek of her husband. “I’m off love, catch you on the flip side.” 

“Night hon,” Karma returned and she disappeared after her children. 

“So.” Karma began, taking a swig of his glass. “You gonna tell me what this new assignment is all about?” 

Before Noble could reply, the front door opened. 

“Sorry I’m late boys!” Came a voice from the foyer. 

Karma rolled his eyes. 

Sala surged out of the master bedroom at what she believed was her husband’s voice. Eyeing the newcomer entering the kitchen, she shook her head. 

“Oh. It’s just you. I can go back to bed,” she scoffed. Rex grinned. 

“I see your wife hasn’t lost her sense of humor, Karm,” the commander said eagerly to the men at the table. “Saved me a glass?” 

“Aye, sit down y’crazy coot.” 

Rex obliged, taking the bottle to fill. 

“I would’ve been here sooner, but I got caught up in a briefing on the Sicemon operation.” 

“Sicemon? They’re finally taking that old war relic?” Noble asked him. 

“What war relic?” Karma inquired. 

“Old Venator destroyer. Parked on the planet and left untouched. We’re moving in to sweep it clear and take it,” Rex answered. 

Karma thought on the implications, blinking twice, before continuing his questioning to the Captain. 

“ _So_ , Noble? What do you have going on?” 

Rex paused his filling, looking between the two. He eyed Noble a bit longer than he liked. 

“Uhh..” Noble started. “Just a few more reports than normal.” He took a drink, aiming to draw off suspicion. 

It didn’t work. 

“I know when you’re both bullshitting me, _Rex_.” Karma punched the Commander in the shoulder, and Rex just winced. 

“C’mon Karm. Organa trusts us with these things. We can’t blab them around to anyone who asks,” Noble covered for him. 

“You both know I’m not just anyone.” 

“Yeah, we know. But you retired.” 

“Yeah.” Karma fiddled with his drink while Rex looked to politely interrupt. 

“Go on Noble,” his superior urged. 

Noble looked relieved. He sighed. 

“Thanks. Was hoping you’d relent,” he smiled coyly. Rex waved his hand and took a gulp of spotchka as the other two continued. 

“You don’t really have to. My curiosity gets the better of me,” Karma said. 

“No, I actually wanted to, it’s okay,” Noble replied. 

“Okay.” The clone set his glass down and rested his hands under his chin as he listened. 

“I sorted through the files after Rex gave them to me. He told me it was Jedi business. He was right.” Noble swallowed, drawing on a breath to fuel his explanation. 

“Apparently, something happened on Ossus a few weeks ago. Organa wants us to comb through the Imperial Archives through a backdoor channel and learn whatever we can about the place.” 

“Ossus huh?” Karma asked. 

“Yeah. Some important place to the Jedi. Bail had one of his agents there.” 

“Too bad you can’t consult Orren.” 

Noble hadn’t heard that name in quite a long time. Years, perhaps. Ever since departing from the hangar on Raxus Secundus, he had not seen nor heard from his former General since. 

For all he knew, the man was dead. 

“Yeah. Too bad.” 

“Orren Kara.” Rex said. “Heard he was one hell of a fighter during the war.” 

“You bet he was,” Karma quipped. “Was with us till the end.” His eyes drifted down upon mentioning Quermia. 

“General Skywalker commented about him once. I remember,” Rex continued. “Admired his tenacity, but wasn’t sure he was ready for a command. Listening to you guys though, sounds like he did just fine.” 

“Things went.. As well as they could have.” Noble cut in. “We’re thankful we made it out alive.” 

“Agreed. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have all of this.” Karma said, motioning around his home. 

“I’d say you got it made, brother,” Rex added. “Beautiful family, solid home, decent work. You make us proud.” 

“I do what I can. Why don’t you two settle down? Meet a nice girl, pop out some kids.” 

Rex laughed, Noble just shook his head and took another sip. 

“Family life doesn’t feel right for me. I don’t know, I just never considered it honestly,” Rex replied. “What about you Cap?” 

“I concur with Rex here. Never saw myself married with kids. Happy being the old uncle, thanks.” 

“Oh c’mon Noble, there’s more out there for you than pushing papers around,” Karma said. Noble shot him a look. 

“Maybe. But who knows if I’ll ever find it.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “When the war ended, I wasn’t sure what to do. We were only bred to really do one thing. Difficult to adjust to doing anything other than just following orders.” 

“Cap’s got a point,” Rex pointed out. “A lot harder than it seems. You did good, Karm.” 

“Yeah,” Noble agreed. “You’re the best of us, Karm.” 

“Why follow orders, after all this time though?” Karma’s words rang through Rex, and the man straightened up in his seat to listen. “We fought battle after battle for three years, earned no praise, no compensation, no thank you from anyone. We were expendable for the Republic, which doesn’t even exist anymore. Like pawns. We deserve better than following orders our whole lives.” 

Noble shifted uneasily in his seat. Karma spoke the truth. When did anyone ever truly _thank them_ during the war for their service? Their sacrifices? The trauma they endured? The images that still haunted them? They never received that thank you, not one word. No reimbursement, no awards, no ceremonies, nothing. It was as if the galaxy just got up and moved on from the war, leaving its soldiers wandering aimlessly in the aftermath. 

Those that weren’t still under the chip’s influence, anyway. 

Sometimes, he felt like one of the droids they fought so hard to destroy. Someone who was born in a lab, raised to wage war, and then discarded like a used playtoy by the new Empire. 

Those thoughts came to him late at night, while lying awake in his bunk, and kept him up for hours, dwelling on the ideas that plagued his consciousness. 

“Ya know, your life here reminds me of someone I met during the war. Early on,” Rex said. “Caught up living the farmer’s life on Saleucami.” 

“How’d you meet him?” Noble asked. 

“By chance, actually. Was injured and he -- Cut -- came to my aid.” Rex mused on the past, thinking back to Cut Lawquane and his family of four. They eerily resembled the life Karma now led. However, envy was never Rex’s strong suit, so he was not often bothered by it. 

“Another lucky man then,” Karma said. 

“Aye. I hope he’s still living the best he can,” Rex replied. 

“Not many can say that anymore,” Noble said, reaching back and inconspicuously stroking his finger across the scar on the back of his head. 

“No, not many can,” Rex said, swashing another bit of spotchka down as he went for a refill. 

“A toast, then.” Karma said without hesitation. He raised his glass. 

“To?” Noble asked. 

“The ones we’ve lost.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

The three raised their glasses in unison. Karma led off. 

“To Stax.” 

“Ty.” Noble said. 

“Fives.” Rex added. 

“Nox.” 

“Sash.” 

“Hardcase.” 

“Copy.” 

“Tandem.” 

“Jesse.” 

“All of em.” Karma said. “To our brothers.” 

“To our brothers.” 

They drank, and as the night grew shorter, they drank some more. Frolicking in humor, enjoying each other’s company, their goal was always the same. 

To live for their fallen brethren. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rex has now joined the fray. Another favorite of mine, I was eager to explore how he got from Mandalore at the end of TCW to Seelos in Rebels, and what he may have done in the interim years. I'm sure the upcoming Bad Batch show may expand on it, but I wanted to chart my own path on this. Since Rex met other clones after arriving on Dantooine, it should be no surprise he struck up a friendship with them over the years. They were, in their minds, the only ones who weren't brainwashed by the Empire. They were all they had. This was more of a character and dialogue focused chapter than action focused. I also came to the realization that I'm not the best at writing children's dialogue. But I got some good stuff on the horizon.


	9. Gray Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lonely mechanic on a distant waterworld finds unexpected action.

**IX**

* * * * 

Manaan - 14 BBY 

A crank of the spanner. 

The addition of a few new bolts. 

A replaced ion coil. 

It was as good as new. 

“How much am I payin’ you for this?” 

“However much you feel is reasonable,” came the reply. 

“What if I think nothin’ is reasonable?” 

“Then perhaps city security would find something that fits your high standards.” 

The customer scoffed, removing a one-hundred credit piece from a leathery pouch, forking it over gruffly. 

“Much obliged, friend.” The mechanic was straining to create an honest face. He knew one-hundred credits was nothing, it would barely reimburse him for parts. 

But these were trying times. 

Fix watched as the Toydarian buzzed over to his repaired urban-swoop. 

“This better get me home.” The winged one threatened. 

“No worries. I used only my best parts,” Fix said. 

“It’s _your head_ if it doesn’t, clone!” The grumpy creature plopped his round bottom onto the swoop seat and ignited the engine. The clean rumble of the repulsors was distinguishable from the horrid creaking and groaning that once plagued the machine. 

Fix smirked, wiping his hands of coil grease and returning to his work. 

Above him, hung a salt-ridden sign over the graying facade of a small garage. 

_Fixes-It._

Four years ago he started this business, with a burgeoning entrepreneurial spirit and emboldened by a booming economy on Manaan. 

Four years later, and he had a small garage with enough space for living quarters, all tucked away snugly in the east central district of Ahto City. 

While he spent most of his days repairing swoop bikes for the city’s growing racing scene, he also saw speeder bikes, starfighters, freighters, and harvesting ships come and go through the garage’s vehicular entry port at the rear. 

He did his best to fix them all, reattaching plugs, wiring new ignitions, replacing entire chassis’, or rebuilding whole frames. 

Fix was a master of his craft, but it could barely pay the bills. 

Nonetheless, he was content, for the time being. 

The Selkath that ran Manaan’s only above-ground population center were kind enough to loan him a vacant space on the east side of the expansive platformed city. While it was on a lower tier in elevation compared to the central city and spaceport, it gave him sweeping views of the city’s sunset over the waves. 

Manaan, like Kamino, was a waterworld. Not a sole continent could be found on the entirety of the planet’s surface, not even an island. 

To facilitate trade with outsiders, the Selkath constructed Ahto City, millennia ago. A wonder of engineering, nearly ten kilometers wide, Ahto City sat on a platform of reinforced durasteel foundation, while the oceans swelled through the tunnels that were carved into the city’s superstructure. 

The shell-shape of the city’s construction gave way to a graceful slope around the edges into the sea, with a massive buoyancy system anchored in the city’s central district to keep it afloat. 

Like a shining white jewel in a calm blue sea as seen from the upper atmosphere, Ahto City was the first -- and usually the last -- sight that most travelers saw when entering and exiting the planet’s orbit. 

Fix found it the closest candidate to home. His original home. So he stayed, lingering far longer than he intended. But the oceans below gave him peace when financial burdens encumbered him. 

Far from the manicured pearlescent streets of the government district, the east side was mostly a collection of various shops and parlors. A menagerie of the galaxy’s wildest interests and most mundane services. 

Fixes-It, however, the pride and joy of Manaan’s only clone mechanic, was the latest and greatest addition to the district, garnering attention citywide for Fix’s attention to detail and speedy repair skills. 

Today though, was a slow day. 

Fix grabbed a spanner from a nearby tool cart and hurried over to a damaged speeder bike. 

He recognized the inscriptions on the side of the bike’s frame, but paid little mind. It reminded him of a lost time, where he fought a different battle each day, rather than the one to stay afloat. 

Or perhaps, both were the same. He never bothered to compare his old life to the new. 

All that mattered now, was the garage. 

“Shit.” He swore. The bike’s frame was bent, and badly at that. 

“You shouldn’t swear.” 

Fix, startled, spun around on his heels. It was a woman, eagerly awaiting his attention at the entrance to the garage’s overhanging front face. She was Twi’lek. 

He recognized her. She was a bartender at one of the nearby cantinas. He used to frequent often, and occasionally found himself staring at her. 

Sometimes, she’d stare back. 

“Ah, sorry. Didn’t see ya there,” Fix murmured. “How can I help you?” 

She offered a faint smile in response. 

“I am looking for a mechanic. I’ve seen you in the cantina before, and I was told you could help me?” 

Fix motioned around to his various projects underway, tools neatly arranged in carts, parts lined up carefully on the floor of the garage. 

“Well, I am a mechanic, that’s right,” he said, scratching the back of his head nervously. Meeting new clients wasn’t his forte. 

“Oh! Great..” she replied, looking behind her. A young girl emerged from the shadow of her mother, peering up at the man before them. 

“Uh, hi there,” Fix said, offering an awkward wave. The girl ducked behind her mother, clutching her leg. 

“It’s okay, _ma sareen_ ,” the woman urged, beckoning her daughter forth. 

The little one grabbed something that was lying strewn on the ground. Fix recognized it but couldn’t make out all of the details. It was small. 

She dragged it forward and laid it at the feet of the mechanic. 

His eyes shifted down. The broken hover-bike gazed up at him. It was the size of a child, not like a speeder made for a typical adult rider. It looked to be almost broken in half, the two pieces clinging to each other via a frail steel rod that ran down the chassis. 

He studied it clearly, but had never worked on something this small before. 

“My um.. my late husband made this for her before he passed.” The Twi’lek said. “It’s all she has left of her father.” 

Fix offered a sympathetic smile at the girl, who backed away on a whim, biting her nails copiously. She was painfully adorable, and Fix worried he may not be able to repair her prized possession. 

Looking back at the girl’s mother, he nodded. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, miss.” He began, “I’m quite busy, backlogged with several repair orders.” 

She dissolved into a frown. 

“But--” Fix said. 

Her eyes met his. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Give me a few days, okay?” 

The woman’s mouth curled into a full-hearted smile. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said profusely, moving forward to grab his hand in thanks. He appeared slightly alarmed at her sudden change in demeanor but quickly relented. 

“This will mean the world to my little one,” she continued. 

“What’s her name?” Fix asked. 

“Sienn. Well, Sienn’teksa. But you can just call her Sienn.” She took a step back, her hand moving to stroke her daughter’s head gingerly. 

“Sienn. Right. And what can I call you?” Fix asked again. 

“Oh. My name is Juuna. Juuna’teksa, but--” 

“I can just call you Juuna, yeah? I’m Fix.” Fix smiled. 

She returned it, a hint of bashfulness on her face, but nonetheless it was genuine. 

“There is something you should know. I.. I am not sure how I will be able to pay you right now. So if you cannot begin work until then, I understand.” 

“It will be no trouble to me. Consider it on the house,” he said. 

Her smile persisted. Fix would have noticed, but he was too busy locked on her eyes. They were a beautiful shade of subtle green, enough to garner attention, but leaving much to be curious about. He caught himself staring and hoped that she hadn’t picked up on it. 

“Thank you,” she replied. “If it’s not too much to ask, I bartend at the spaceport cantina now, and if you ever find yourself thirsty, you’re welcome to drinks.” Her smile transitioned into a hinting smirk. “On me.” 

Drinks. Not something he often partook in with others. Not that he had many friends in Ahto City. Despite that, he enjoyed the solitude that drinking alone brought him, the stress leaving his body with each sip. He wasn’t sure how to approach this. 

He needed some serious liquid courage to hold his own with her at a bar. 

Fix gave her a gentle nod, “I’ll definitely consider it. Thank you, Juuna,” he offered his hand for a final handshake. 

She obliged. 

“I look forward to meeting again,” she said, motioning for her daughter to leave. 

“So do I,” Fix returned, face contorted into a fleeting smile. His eyes lingered upon hers until she pulled away and started towards the spaceport. 

Watching them disappear down a sidestreet, Fix let out an audible sigh. 

_That’s fourteen orders in a week. I’ll never get this all done._

The stress was getting to him. 

Thankfully, he had a new outlet for unwinding. 

Ahto City’s spaceport cantina. 

* * * * 

The klaxon of the alarm jolted him from his position. 

In the midst of installing the final sensor readout onboard a Selkath harvester unit, Fix pushed himself to his feet, eyeing the sky. 

Darkness. Night had fallen quicker than he expected. Cursing under his breath, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve and dropped his spanner on a nearby tool cart. 

The citywide alarm was wailing, its echo ringing through the empty streets and polished walkways. 

Fix knew a civil notification was imminent. The Selkath were usually very orderly, and their announcements to the public via municipal alarms were always necessitated by the sheer size of the city itself. 

Just beyond the face of his garage, a white, plastoid pillar erupted from the plaza where he did business. Rising from the pillar, was the hologram. 

“ _Attention, all citizens and visitors to Ahto City please be aware. From the Maanan Climatological Center: A Level Two Hyperstorm has been detected in the equatorial regions, with the prevailing easterlies driving the storm towards the city. Beginning tomorrow at noon and lasting for forty-eight hours, the city will be under mandatory curfew. Please gather necessary supplies and shelter in place until the storm has passed. Thank you._ ” 

The pillar disappeared as quickly as it rose, and the alarm was silenced, replaced by a repetitive pulsing of the city’s yellow warning lights, positioned at every intersection. 

“Damn,” Fix muttered. He had the emergency rations, but that wasn’t his concern. 

Hyperstorms were among the fiercest forces of nature known in the galaxy. While Manaan was infamous for them, they were actually quite rare. During his introductory courses to citizenship upon arrival, Fix learned that the last hyperstorm to affect Ahto City was nearly thirty-two years ago. 

He shuddered at the idea of a storm that could absolutely dwarf the typical cyclones that were routine on Kamino -- a result of the Kaminoans disruption of the planet. 

Hyperstorms were a different beast altogether, reaching nearly four-thousand kilometers in diameter and containing monstrous wind gusts that could match, or exceed, even the strongest gales recorded in the galaxy. 

Not to mention the waves. 

_Thankfully it’s only a level two_. 

On a five-level scale, a level two was relatively tame, and did not disrupt activity in the city as much as its more grown-up counterparts. 

But, there was always more room to grow. 

He decided he better enjoy himself while he still could. The cantina was on his mind tonight, after long consideration throughout the day. 

Ducking inside the garage, he freshened up a bit in front of a rather small mirror and changed into his favorite white henley and exercise pants, needing a change of look if was to hit the cantina under twilight. 

It was against his better judgment, but he could not pass up the opportunity for a free drink after the last few days. It had been quite some time since he last visited the spaceport cantina, often opting for the much closer east side cantina. 

Was it a risk he was willing to take? 

He tried to avoid the spaceport out of fear he may be recognized by someone passing through the system, as his face was a bit hard to miss. Granted, he took a risk running a popular and public business, he just made a point to never work on ships at the spaceport out of concern of being noticed by one of a much larger portion of offworlders. 

Nevertheless, he still appreciated the atmosphere of the spaceport cantina, colloquially known as Portside. 

Opening his rather cramped eco-fridge, he grabbed a small canteen, and rather plainly, took a swig of liquid courage before venturing to the center of the city. 

“Here goes nothin’.” 

* * * * 

The door whirred open and shut with a mechanical regularity as he stepped inside. 

Commotion was abound, yet the ambience was more pacified than he had expected. Drinks were passed around, species of all shapes and sizes gathered around the central ring of the bar, and numerous other patrons dotted the dimly lit interior, scattered around at tables and in secluded booths. 

Private conversations were hushed, perhaps conducting uncouth business deals or shady agreements. 

Despite its hazy lighting, the cantina was perhaps one of the cleanest in the galaxy, as were many of the institutions and halls of Ahto City. 

The only voices Fix heard, emanated from the bar itself. Cries and shouts in all sorts of language, droned out by a Selkath belting to two men in Galactic Basic, clearly inebriated. 

“You don’t understand! I _won_ that bet! That ship is _mine_!!.” 

“That ship will never belong to you, _fishboy_. 

“What did you _call me_?” 

“What he meant to say, was that you’re just a _fantastic_ swimmer.” 

The Selkath attempted to push himself off of the bar and make for the door, but stumbled on a stool and collapsed on the floor. Nobody paid him any mind. 

“Got another cleanup on the floor, Ardo!” Came a cry from the bartender. The voice Fix came for. 

He saw her mixing a gin and some offworld juice in a concoction that would sure to be a robust cocktail. Ducking into an unoccupied booth near the door, he felt his palms begin to sweat. 

“Can I interest you in a drink, sir?” 

Fix jumped. 

It was just the droid attendant. 

“My sensors indicate great emotion. Are you intoxicated already, sir?” 

“No.. no I’m not.” He puffed an exhale. “But I’d like to be,” shaking his head, he instructed the droid further. 

“Short rum, on the rocks. Put whatever else you want in it. Dull it with spotchka and shake it first.” 

“You have fine taste, sir.” 

“Thanks.” 

The droid disappeared to the bar, where he began to habitually prepare the ingredients. Juuna turned and noticed, asking where the drink came from. 

Fix avoided her gaze when he felt it, nervousness overwhelming. He hoped she wouldn’t come over, but that wasn’t a guarantee in a place like this. 

As the Selkath’s unconscious body was lifted from the floor, the two men pestering him got up to leave, dropping a few credits on the bar counter. 

“How about another round on me, boys?” Came a faint voice from behind them. Fix could barely hear the exchange, darting his eyes across the room to examine. 

The two men, standing a fair bit taller than the newcomer, eyed him cautiously. 

“Whaddya wanna buy us for?” One of them asked. 

“You look like you can raise hell. I like those types,” came a reply. 

Fix angled his ear to the conversation. The voice sounded _familiar_ , but he needed another listen. The figure was hidden behind the taller men. 

The two looked to each other then back down to the shorter one. 

“Alright then,” one said. “Entertain us.” 

“Smart choice.” 

The men sat back down, joined by the third. 

Stepping out of the shadow, Fix narrowed his eyes to get a better look at him. 

But the returning droid attendant had other plans. 

“Here you are sir, rum on the rocks, spotchka, and Onderonian apple juice. Shaken.” 

“Yes, yes, thank you.” Fix waved the droid off, dropping a few credits in the tip jar attached to the droid’s frame. 

Attendant stepping away, he finally could get a good eye on the man, for curiosity’s sake. Lifting the rum to sip, he saw him clearly. 

_It was him_. 

The rum glass dropped to the table and shattered, spilling alcohol across the floor and onto a nearby Duro. 

His side of the cantina briefly paused, and Fix turned his head to avoid being noticed by the man. The Duro was unhappy, raising his fist and shouting. 

The droid attendant returned, apologizing for giving Fix a faulty glass. Juuna soon followed, shooing the droid to the bar. 

“If this was your way of getting me to come over here, you’re strangely creative,” she smirked. 

Fix couldn’t move, he couldn’t blink, he could barely breathe. 

“Are you okay, Fix?” She asked him, wiping off the alcohol with a wet rag. He watched it absorb into the fibers of the cloth, wishing it was waterfalling down his throat instead. 

He said nothing. 

“Fix?” 

He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“How often does that man come in here?” 

“What man?” 

“The one talking to the two in black, at the bar.” He didn’t look, but she turned to glance over. 

“Oh, him? He’s been coming in every few days. This is the first time he’s spoken to anyone though. Usually he just hangs out in the corner and watches everything, then leaves.” 

“Do you know who he is?” 

“I don’t know his name, but he looks remarkably similar to you. Do you know him?” She asked. 

“I think so, yes.” 

“Do you want me to say something?” 

“ _No!_ ” He whispered sharply. “I just need to watch him for a bit, is that okay?” 

She looked rather disgruntled, but chose to refrain from letting any further emotion show. 

“That’s fine,” she said, pacing back to the bar in silence. 

Fix’s entire reason for coming here was to drum up the courage to speak to a beautiful woman. 

Yet that had been thrown out by the man sitting at the bar, wrapping up his round of drinks with two new acquaintances. 

They finished up their conversation with a bit of apparent tension, the two men gathering themselves and hurriedly making for the door, lifting their hoods over their heads. 

Fix watched them exit, while the other man remained seated, counting credits to pay Juuna. 

He glanced down at a device planted on his wrist, appearing to be a chronometer. 

After a few seconds, he also got up to leave, nodding to Juuna as he did, and passed between a few tables as he hustled for the door. 

Fix felt Juuna’s eyes lingering on him. He didn’t want to leave, but the drinks she owed him would have to wait. 

As she came from behind the bar to approach him again, Fix whisked himself from the booth and out the door in pursuit. 

Juuna stopped in her tracks, watching him go in disappointment. 

* * * * 

The oceanic air hung low under the stars as Fix surged out of the cantina and into the silent night. The streets of Ahto City were quiet, as usual, a far cry from the cantinas that dotted the cityscape. 

He paused outside the establishment, looking to his right, then to his left. 

Seeing no one, he pondered how to proceed. Until he heard it. 

The sounds of scuffle, in the distance. He used his ears and followed the noises until he heard the echoes of men shouting. 

Fix picked up the pace and started running, knowing he’d most likely find the ones in question at the source of the ruckus. 

Barreling around a corner, he heard the sounds stop, and footsteps running off. He swore, and banked a right around another corner, and then he saw it. 

A faint trail of blood smeared across the side of a building. He traced his index finger through it. It was fresh. 

The next thing he heard was the charging of a pistol. 

Within a second, he felt it’s cold metal presence etched upon his head. He closed his eyes, fearing the worst. 

“Always clear your corners, trooper.” 

Fix knew the voice better than any other in the universe. He had heard it countless times over thirteen years. 

It was his own. 

“Didn’t think in the moment,” Fix stammered. 

“Most never do,” the voice growled. “I noticed you when you came into the cantina. Why are you here?” 

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Are you with the Imps?” 

“No.” 

“How can I be sure?” 

“My chip was removed five years ago.” 

Silence. 

The pistol dropped back. 

“Interesting. You too?” The voice asked. 

Fix spun around slowly, bringing him into the eyeline of another clone, far more gruff in appearance, hosting a cybernetic replacement eye, his hair was cut short, and blood drained from his nose. 

It was a face he came to know well during the first two years of the war. 

“Commander Wolffe..?” Fix said slowly. 

The man’s sole working eye narrowed in suspicion. 

“How do you know me?” The pistol budged slightly at his waist. 

“I served with you.” 

Wolffe fell silent. 

“I was a member of the 404th Battalion, under Or--....” 

“Orren Kara, yeah.” Wolffe said, holstering his pistol. “He was a good man. Learned a lot from General Plo. Shame they’re lost to us.” 

“You got your chip removed?” Fix asked. 

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. Right now, I’m just happy to see a familiar face, especially one that isn’t trying to execute me for treason.” 

Fix winced at the mention of treason. 

_Blaster fire echoed through the Quermian throne room_. 

He shook it off with a twitch of his face. 

“You okay, trooper?” Wolffe asked, patting Fix on the shoulder in solidarity. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

“We need to get a move on,” Wolffe wiped his nose, which was still leaking a bit of blood. 

“What were you doing?” Fix asked. 

“Those men were Imperial Agents. Not to be taken lightly.” Wolffe shook his head in dismay. “Only one person has ever bested me in a fistfight, I’ll be damned if I have to add those two punks to the list too.” 

“Who was it?” Fix asked, as they proceeded around the next corner to the central spaceport plaza. 

“Name was Cody, he led the 212th. Used to spar between missions. One hell of a fighter, _man_ he was good.” 

Fix mused upon the name, but realized more pressing matters existed. 

“Hold on, _why_ were you brawling with Imperial Agents?” 

“I’ll explain, we have to get off the street. Where do you stay?” Wolffe asked. 

“East side, I’ll lead us.” 

Wolffe obliged and followed after him. 

* * * * 

The walk wasn’t long, moving at such a brisk pace as the two clones were. 

Ahto City was like a graveyard at night, eerily silent, with only the permeating yellow lights flashing every few seconds, casting an unsettling glow across the exterior of homes and shops. 

That warning still lingered in the back of Fix’s mind. 

Arriving home, Fix moved to unlock his door with a resident card. Wolffe looked around the district apprehensively. 

“You live here, trooper?” He asks, somewhat impressed, as Fix detected from his inflection. 

“You can just call me Fix, and yes, I live here.” 

“Sorry.. Fix. You never dropped your nickname did you?” 

“Nah. I see you haven’t either.” 

“How can you tell?” 

“You never corrected me when I called you Wolffe.” 

“Right.. Old habits die hard I guess.” 

“We’re clones, of course they do.” 

“Meaning?” 

“It runs in the family, Commander,” Fix said with a smirk, opening the door to his inner garage promptly. 

Stepping inside, Wolffe looked around at the holding bay, which contained various broken machinery, speeder parts, even a few pieces from starships. Tools and carts were lined up orderly against the wall across the bay, and a small interior living quarter was sanctioned off in the far corner. 

“Let me get you a medkit,” Fix said, and disappeared into the adjacent living space. 

Wolffe browsed the hardware on the bay floor, inspecting Fix’s handiwork. He nodded smugly. 

_Impressive_. 

“I don’t have much in the way of medical supplies,” Fix said, returning rather quickly, “but you should be able to stop the bleeding with what I do have. Got some gauze and anti-hemorrhage spray in there. Be ginger.” 

Wolffe nodded, taking the gauze and leaning down to let the blood flow from his nose. 

“You a medic or something?” 

“I was a combat mechanic actually, and a part-time pilot,” Fix answered, watching him struggle with the gauze. 

“That why you opened up this shop out here?” 

“That’s right.” 

“You seem to be good at what you do,” Wolffe remarked. 

“I make ends meet.” 

“Don’t we all.” 

“You seem to have gotten in dirty with the wrong people,” Fix said. 

“Do what you gotta do, I guess.” 

“Better be careful, Ahto City is one of the strictest places in the _galaxy_ for crime. If any camera caught you, they’re looking for you now.” 

“I’m sure they are. I try and make my move and those Imp bastards spring a trap.” 

“You gonna tell me why you were after them now?” 

Wolffe took a whiff of the anti-hemorrhage spray up each nostril, wincing in pain as he did so. Plugging his nose with thinly wrapped gauze, he took to mouth breathing for the time being. Gathering his thoughts, he mustered an answer in rather sharp form. 

“They’re traffickers.” 

“Traffickers? Of?” 

“Weapons. Supplies. Hell, even kolto.” 

“Bullshit,” Fix said. “The Selkath have the kolto locked up under heavy surveillance. Any movement into the harvesting bays and you’d be prosecuted in forty minutes.” 

“Not these guys. They’re good. They have connections deeper than I thought possible,” Wolffe replied, steadying his swaying head by leaning against a black wall behind him. 

On closer examination, he noticed the black wall wasn’t actually a wall. It was in the outline of a ship, the largest object in the bay, taking up half of the floor space. It was well wrapped in tarp and secured at the floor via hooks. 

“What’s this?” Wolffe asked, looking to Fix as he ran his hand along the exterior of the tarp. 

“Nothing. Just a pet project,” Fix looked to change the subject. “So, these agents. If they _are_ smuggling weapons, and kolto, why?” 

“They work for one of the sector governors in the Mid Rim, near the Colonies. One of the Moffs.” 

“Moffs?” 

“Yeah. It’s who the Emperor puts in charge of governance in designated regions. Twenty of ‘em, I think. Then there’s the Grand Moff.” 

“I’m guessing he’s the big guy,” Fix said with the faintest hint of a simper. 

“From what I gather, he’s smart as a whip and just as cunning. Very powerful.” Wolffe pressed lightly upon his nose, drawing back in pain. 

“Leave it alone,” Fix said, like an annoyed parent. 

Wolffe shook his head and continued. 

“I’ve been tracking these guys across local systems in this sector. Whoever their Moff is, they have extraordinary power, or some sort of ruthless will to get things done outside of their own system, and under the nose of other Moffs.” 

“Why would a Moff want this stuff?” 

“It’s not your typical black market or aftermarket weaponry. This is heavy-grade, former Republic equipment. Stuff the Empire -- _their own Empire_ \-- discontinued and outlawed a few years ago.” Wolffe paused to take a breath. “Large-scale munitions, capital ship ordinance, walker ordinance, mortars, bulk shipments of DC-15s, thermal detonators, mines, you name it. Enough to power a small army.” 

“They’ve used Manaan then?” Fix asked, intently focused and insanely curious. 

“It seems they’ve used some of the sub-levels of the spaceport as a staging ground, and either they or their Moff paid off the Selkath to turn a blind eye. ‘Tough on crime’ till that crime pays well enough, I suppose.” 

“And _because_ they turned a blind eye, it makes it easier to smuggle out kolto as well,” Fix said. 

“Now you’re catching on.” 

“Kolto hasn’t been used for widespread medical use in.. well, I’m not sure. A long time last I heard. Bacta is the thing now.” 

“It still has uses in experimental treatments. Whatever they’re cooking up, it’s growing in scale by the week.” 

“So what’s your plan here, Commander?” 

“I need to expose them to the Manaan government. The Moff paid them off, but that was under the table. Once they’re exposed to the public eye, the political pressure will be too great.” 

“You seem to know enough about politicking your way around,” Fix joked. 

“Been doing this a while. And if you serve under a Jedi long enough, you catch on,” Wolffe replied. 

Fix nodded in agreement, thinking about Orren, wherever he could be in that moment. He’d be of great use to them. 

“You’re not gonna be able to take them on alone, and with a bloody nose,” Fix said amusingly. 

“No, I’m not.” 

Wolffe straightened his posture, and leaned off of the tarp. 

“But with your help, Fix, I might.” 

Fix blinked. He had left this life behind, he wasn’t a soldier anymore. He had a job here, a business. To wade back into that muck that was a soldier’s life means bringing back the memories he’d tried so hard to bury. Quermia. His dead brothers. Order 66. All of it. 

But Wolffe was a brother, for better or for worse, and something greater than both of them was happening here. 

Naturally, he felt compelled to try and stop it. 

“Fair warning,” Fix began, “the Selkath love to crack down on anything deemed _out of place_. We’ll have to move carefully.” 

“The first shipment offworld is in fourteen hours,” Wolffe said, glancing down to the chronometer on his wrist. 

“So what do we do?” Fix asked. 

“We interrupt the shipment, and hope the authorities come crashing down on us.” 

“That may be a bit difficult right now.” 

“Why?” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a storm coming.” 

“Damn. You’re right.” Wolffe stroked his chin in thought. “We’ll have to move fast. And I mean, _fast_.” 

Before they could continue, a rap came at the door to the inner garage. 

“You often get visitors at this hour?” Wolffe asked. 

“No.” 

“Should I go hide?” 

“That may be wise, go inside that door and wait for me,” Fix motioned to his living quarters, and Wolffe hurried over. 

Answering the door, it opened to reveal two Selkath guards. Their amphibious features greeted Fix with frigidly cold stares. 

“Your name Fix?” One of them asked, in a rather broken sounding Basic. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” The other said, his Basic a bit more well-constructed. 

“Uh, sure, yeah.” Fix stepped outside, closing the door and subtly locking it behind him. 

He followed the two through the sea of machinery in the outer garage to the open air of the plaza. 

One of the Selkath removed a holo-puck from his pocket and held it up. On it, was Wolffe’s face, spinning clockwise. 

“You know this man? He looks awfully similar to you.” The second guard said. 

“Never seen him in my life.” 

“Are you _absolutely_ sure?” 

Fix, knowing the city’s extensive camera network may have caught them walking together, felt he had no other choice. They would abate for now, but return later with hard evidence, and possibly an arrest warrant. 

At that time, he hoped, it would be after their job was complete. 

“Positive,” he finally answered. 

“Very well,” the first said. The holo-puck disappeared back into the pocket of his companion and they turned to leave. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Fix said, blank-faced, as he watched them return towards the center city. 

Turning back to his garage, he felt a small splash of water on his hand. 

And then another. 

Looking up, he was greeted by something most unwelcome. 

The first raindrops of the storm to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my longest so far, 19 pages in a word document, but it covers a lot of ground, and character stuff involving two favorites of mine. Starting to plot out how all of these smaller subplots will come together in the end. Looking good so far. We're approaching 1/3 the way through. 
> 
> If you haven't noticed already, I'm trying to carve each of these chapters around the individual characters and their subplots, kind of like the Game of Thrones books. While I don't aim to get nearly as complicated (or disappointing in TV form) as that series, I will draw these threads together towards the end in the best way that I can. I'm not a pro author, but I do take inspiration from several of them.


	10. Level 3164

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A traumatized clone on Coruscant decides to finally seek answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W - there are some implications of drug use in the opening of the chapter, and some references to depression/suicide, but it's nothing heavy or serious. Just putting this warning ahead of time!

**X**

* * * * 

Coruscant - 14 BBY 

Coruscant. 

The Empire’s capital world. 

Imperial Center. Queen of the Core. Center of the Galaxy. Seat of Power. Triple-Zero. 

It had its names. 

Colloquialisms were more like it. 

At first glance, screaming out of hyperspace, the sparkling spider-webs of gleaming light radiation emanating from the planet’s vast cityscape would appear as an entrancing invitation. A beacon of prosperity, where dreams began. 

Only, it wasn’t. 

The epicenter of the Empire’s consolidated galactic might was lustrous on its exterior, shining like a polished gemstone from the mines of Dinzo. 

But that’s what they _wanted_ you to see.  


Level 5127. The peak of the ecumenopolis. Only the wealthy could boast their affluence there, only those who had their hands on the levers of power could strut about in their divine decadence. Dining on exotic fruits and fine wines, they retired in the evenings to luxurious apartment spires that soared above the endless canyons of permacrete which crisscrossed the planet’s surface. 

That was the level of society that a newcomer would see upon arrival. 

Deep in the grimy underbelly of the planet, delving into the kilometers thick urban sprawl, the level number becomes blurred. 

3000? 2400? 1100? 500? It didn’t matter. 

Down there, the light was absent. The only source of luminosity were artificial light installations that hung above the walkways on each level below 5000. 

To those at the top, anything below them was irrelevant. 

The difference between lifestyles was night and day. 

_Literally_. 

In the underworld of the Imperial heart, lay the filth and corruption they worked so hard to purge from the planet’s exalted image. 

But everyone knew it was there. Lingering, festering, suffering, just a few kilometers down from the gilded opera houses and stately senatorial penthouses on the surface. 

The wealthy simply opted to pretend it didn’t exist. But they knew. 

Down there, the rules were different. 

Frankly, there were no rules. 

Spice and other narcotics were freely traded on the streets. Neon signs flickered and dimmed in disrepair. Granite slugs slimed their way across alleys. Pickpockets thrived. Coruscant Guard troopers were outnumbered and traveled in packs. 

That is, when they dared journey below Level 4000. 

The underworld was controlled by various groups, fighting amongst each other to pillage the livelihoods of those that scurried about the dirt-smeared streets. Those that harvested minimum-wage credits in depravity. 

At first glance, Coruscant revels in its brilliance. 

Peel back the layers, and it becomes its own worst nightmare. A cacophony of voices crying out in poverty. A cornucopia of criminality. A bastion of glittering gluttony. 

Depending on who you were, Coruscant could be your own personal heaven or hell. For most, it was hell. 

Especially for one CT-4066. 

Retiring from military service, and surgically cured of the weapon implanted in his brain, the clone trooper returned to the world he despised the most. 

Where he spent nights resting on a hard barracks rack, hardly ever finding sleep. Where his deployments began and ended. Where the condescending politicians connived to prolong his suffering, and push the war to continue. 

It was where he met his best friend. 

But now, five years on, his best friend was dead. 

And he trudged through a sea of his own self-pity, in and out of countless dive bars, back alleys and some of Coruscant’s seediest nightclubs. 

This night was no different than the last. 

Or any of the previous 1,825 days. 

The lonely clone simply wasted away on his Republic pension, looking for a way out. 

Just as the government who paid him no longer existed in form, neither did he. 

Quermia changed him. He returned to Coruscant a different man that when he had left, with his squad in tow, ready to end the war. 

The war ended alright. And it dragged him with it into the viscera of an unwaking nightmare. 

When he could sleep, he dreamt of when it all changed. The blaster fire, his finger on the trigger, the collapse of the portico. The clinical light blasting his eyes with a rude awakening. 

The news of loss. 

_Tandem_. 

He reached out with his outstretched hand, murky fog enveloping him. The sound of rushing waterfalls, broken glass, and innumerable explosions rocked his ears. 

It never ended. 

Chuckles snapped out of the illusion, reawakening in reality to a voice in his ear. Raspy. Nimble. Sultry. 

He looked around, remembering where he was. The high from the glitterstims wearing off partially. 

“ _How was it_!?” She asked him. 

Chuckles looked at her, the woman beside him. A brunette with hazy eyes, she was barely dressed, and for a moment he forgot who she was. 

He leaned back against the seat, the nape of his neck finding cold leather. 

Their booth was nestled snugly in the backside of The Orbitus, one of Coruscant’s most infamous and sleaziest nightclubs. 

He swallowed air, blinking slowly. The high was drawing off, and lucidity had returned. 

And so did her name. 

“Inia, was it?” Chuckles murmured, bringing a glass of Corellian whiskey to his lips. He purred as the toasty liquor rolled down his esophagus, savory to the last drop. 

“You forgot my name already?” She cried out. The droning of the nightclub’s music had simply drowned out her voice. 

Chuckles was left struggling to hear a word she said, his senses gradually recovering. 

The club was plunged into dance, patrons slinking about in melodic rhythm as the crowd became soaked in the deep aura of a pulsating lightshow. 

Inia stared at her companion, waiting for him to speak. His stare was lost in the crowd, fragmented into pieces of reality and trance. 

The coordinated lights transformed from a cool blue to a frighteningly attractive red, which scattered across Chuckles’ features and left half of him illuminated in an artificial crimson. 

The other half, in unlit shadow. 

His stare prolonged and eventually became lost in the throngs of clubgoers, and she spoke louder. 

“Do you wanna dance or somethin’ sweetheart?” 

This time, he heard her just fine. 

“What makes you think I wanna dance with you? I just wanted the stims.” 

“ _Excuse me_?” 

“Buzz off.” 

Inia, wordless, propped herself from the booth and teetered her lithe figure into the crowd, looking for someone new to attempt to please. Her efforts were wasted on Chuckles’ unwillingness. 

A woman of the night was not his answer, it never had been, despite the pleas of his inebriation to give in. 

Because he knew it would never give him what he wanted. 

He took a final swig from the whiskey and tossed it across the table. Clarity returning in full to his drug-addled vision, he pushed himself to stand, eyeing the exit. 

The booming of the club’s bass made every footstep Chuckles took even louder, as he weaved about dancers and couples aiming to frolic the night away in a mass of hedonistic indulgence. 

Finding the exit, he bumped into a pair of Rodians enthralled with each other. 

Not bothering to apologize for his alcohol-induced clumsiness, he stumbled out into Coruscant’s midnight streets. 

Staggering for a few feet, he approached the rails that guarded one from falling off the durasteel walkway to their death. He gripped the frigid steel with both hands, wringing it fruitlessly and gritting his teeth in silence. The railing groaned against his fingers. 

Chuckles looked up, seeking stars to rest his eyes on. 

He was met only by endless urbanity. Artificial light. Gray hulks of permacrete that ascended another two-thousand levels to Coruscant’s cosmopolitan surface. 

Trapped. Claustrophobia closing in around him. He felt stuck, wrapped up in dense urban rock that surrounded him, with no escape. 

Drug-induced? Perhaps. Alcohol? He doubted it. 

The glitterstims were known to do it to those who weren’t one-hundred percent devoted to the high. 

Chuckles just wanted to forget. The nightmares that plagued him. The war that felt unfinished, stripped away from him. His only purpose. _Gone_. 

Even the most potent of spices could not assist him in forgetting. 

Death, perhaps, was a natural remedy for that. He had hoped to see his fallen brothers again someday. 

But Chuckles admitted even he was a bit too cowardly to put a blaster in his mouth. His willpower was too weak. _Broken_. 

He had nothing. He wanted to scream. 

No one would bother to hear him anyways. 

Reluctantly, he released his grip on the steel. Sighing in dissatisfaction, he decided to end his club crawl prematurely. 

For the thousandth night in a row, he resigned himself to just going home. 

* * * * 

At dawn he woke abruptly, having dozed off for a mere hour or two, sleep interrupted by scattered nightmares. 

He reached out of his cramped bunk to his chronometer, slapping it on his wrist and rolling out of bed. His feet met the frigid metal floor and he winced at the shock, before his skin attuned and he maneuvered around his tiny tenement block to the kitchen. 

A drip of water in the corner interceded his thoughts. 

_Not again_. 

The tenant above him had a leaky shower room, with a crack in the floor that the district maintenance crews had yet to fix. 

_The water bucket returns, for today_. 

He had grown accustomed to the daily drip, but lately it had driven him near-insane, and he needed to escape the constricted living space. 

He poured a cup of lukewarm caf, pausing halfway to top it with blue milk and cream. Delicately stirring it with his finger, he took a taste from the leftovers that dripped from his pointer and sighed. 

Throwing on a bomber jacket that hung near the door, he stepped outside with the caf, taking a few sips as he eyed the environs of Level 3164. He needed a quick sober-up. 

An airspeeder zoomed wildly overhead, what looked to be a taxi. He paid it no mind. Nobody could drive down here. He didn’t even attempt to, the cityscape was too constrained. 

The caf disappeared from the cup faster than he realized, and he decided he needed to do something. He wasn’t sure what, just _anything_. He had to get out of that apartment. 

Considering his options, Chuckles was left with few. 

It had been half a year since he last went to a meeting, but perhaps this would be the day of his return. Triumphant? Far from it. Begrudgingly more like it. 

His destination wasn’t far, only a few minutes’ pace. A dilapidated office space near the turbolift station, underneath a maglev line and an assortment of various utility pipeworks that gave it a rather damp atmosphere. 

The sounds of airspeeders whizzing in the air had drowned in the distance as the district quieted with each footstep. This side of 3164 had been long emptied after a tibanna gas leak a few years back. 

Until the Imperials showed up with their paperwork. 

Stepping inside the office, the poorly lit space revealed rows of half-empty chairs, with one standing at the front of the room, back turned. 

A few turned around to notice the latecomer, while Chuckles kept his head down and ducked into a seat on the back row. 

Turning back to face the meager audience, the man at the head of the room addressed them. 

“Glad you all could make it.” 

Chuckles took a deep breath. He tried to think of an excuse as to why he should get up and leave. It’s not like he _wanted_ to be there. But nonetheless, there he was. 

It beat listening to the _drip_ , _drip_ of the water. 

“How’s everyone feeling today?” The man asked, sporting a rough and tough goatee dotted with incoming gray strands. 

One hand raised. 

“Yeah?” 

“I met someone yesterday,” came the voice. 

“Oh really? That’s great, Duke. Who is it?” 

“Well, she uh.. she uh.. doesn’t quite speak Basic.” 

“So you.. _don’t_ know her name?” 

“Not yet.. but I have a feeling we’ll get there soon,” Duke beamed, and the one in charge let a smidge of a sigh escape him. 

_This is already ridiculous_ , Chuckles thought. _I can’t do this_. 

He stood to leave, hoping to reach the door before-- 

“Chuckles.” 

_Dammit_. 

“Glad to see you again, brother.” 

Chuckles turned around slowly. 

“Right, uh-.. thank you sir. It’s good to be here.” 

“Were you just about to step out?” 

“No, I was um-.. fetching some water. But it can wait.” 

“Right.. so tell me, how have you been?” 

_Terrible_. 

“Just fine.” 

“Any new events in your life lately?” 

_Yeah, I tried glitterstims last night_. 

“Nope, everything’s been quiet.” 

The clone addressing him nodded, his smile was clearly fake. Chuckles tried to look away but felt drawn back to his seat. 

“Anyone else?” 

None of the other clones raised their hands. 

“Right. Well, let’s get started on today’s agenda.” 

_Why do I do this to myself?_ Chuckles mused. _Every time I show up, I always regret it_. 

“Clone Trooper Adjustment Program, day six-hundred and forty-four.” 

CTAP. Some Imperial wise-ass up on the surface thought it was a good idea to gather up all the retired clones on Coruscant and indoctrinate them with some propaganda about their “true purpose,” and how to integrate into the greater galactic society. 

Chuckles thought it was a load of crap. 

Yet he attended anyways. 

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. 

“Today’s agenda consists of the traitors to the Republic and to the Empire, the Jedi.” 

_The Jedi_. 

Chuckles found his eyes lost in the opposite wall, the already dim lights shattering, and the world around him spinning. 

_His feet were planted on a marble floor. Blown out debris was splintered across the floor like a dusty mural of combat._

_The hologram appeared. A raspy voice crackled and gave the order that would change the galaxy._

_Sixty-six._

_He felt dizzy. Nauseous. The trigger clamped against his finger, unrelenting. The hailstorm of blaster fire, the cries of the fallen. The rocket._

_Death. Death. Death._

_His last look upon Tandem was one of remorseless duty, sworn to Lord Sidious to uphold it against all else._

_They pressed on against the Jedi, unrelenting, unwavering. Pursuant to only one end. His death._

_However, his final_ real _look upon Tandem, his best friend in the long war, was of a giddy clone, standing alongside him for a photo with the disabled droid commander. The happiness would be cut short._

_Then, the image of Tandem turning to face Sidious, confusion and worry in his eyes. Unsure of his own future. Putting the helmet on as if nothing was wrong, and carrying it out._

_That’s when he lost him._

_But was it_ really _the Jedi’s fault?_

He had wondered that for years. 

“Chuckles?” The voice called. 

Chuckles returned to the room. He looked at the officer beyond the podium and blinked. 

“I’m here.” 

“I asked you a question. What do we call the Jedi Order?” 

He remembered what the others were programmed to say, and in the moment felt compelled to diverge. 

_Traitors_. 

“Misunderstood.” 

The officer dropped his pen. 

“Say _what_?” 

“Permission to speak freely?” 

“You’re no longer in the service, I’d say you can speak whenever.” 

“Were they _really_ the traitors sir?” 

The officer stood agape, the other clones ogled at Chuckles in disbelief. 

“Careful brother, those are treasonous thoughts.” 

“It’s a simple question.” 

“Yes, they _really_ were the traitors, Chuckles. You best start believing that or else you’ll have a hard time adapting out there.” 

He turned back to the program holoscreen, which flickered slides. The next topic was identifying a Jedi in public and reporting him to authorities. 

_They’re all brainwashed_. 

_Or are they?_

He had never questioned what had happened to him on Raxus Secundus. What Laeda and her team did inside his head. 

Did they plant Separatist propaganda? Cause me to question the very traitors to the Republic? 

_That can’t be right_ , he thought. _Something changed, like a light switch._ He had gone from following General Kara like an obedient puppy, to gunning him down like an attack dog. 

_Why?_ _The biochips?_

_Was this to cause us to turn on the Republic? Or to turn on the traitors?_

_Were_ we _the real traitors?_

He grappled with the thoughts as the officer droned on about public safety protocols on Coruscant and reporting Jedi sightings. 

“--remember, all Jedi are to be approached with the utmost caution and extreme prejudice. Do _not_ attempt to take on one alone, call for the proper authorities and those equipped to deal with Jedi will be dispatched promptly.” 

_They were being hunted down_. 

One by one, little by little, the Empire gained traction against the Jedi, and within a few years, had reduced their entire Order to ashes. 

More like a few hours. 

Chuckles thought about Orren. Not a common occurrence for him, but he floated the man’s image in his mind. 

_I wonder if he’s still alive somewhere_. 

Pointless thoughts, he knew he was never going to see him again. 

But he felt he was owed the truth. Was Orren the real traitor? Or was he, and everyone else in that room? 

Being the only one present with a removed biochip, he felt he had gained extra knowledge over his former compatriots. He had a better sense of understanding, a wider world view, and a less limited outlook on the powers-that-be in the galaxy. 

Yet he still questioned it, every day. Whether it was all a lie. 

He needed someone to _blame_. 

Tandem’s death was a tragedy, and could have been -- in his mind -- entirely avoided. As could all of his brothers’ deaths. 

But Orren led them to that planet. His plan backfired spectacularly, and they paid the price. 

_But what if Order 66 was going to happen anyways_? He wondered. No plan, good or bad, of General Kara’s, could have changed or stopped that. 

And ultimately, that was the order that led to Tandem’s perish. Trapped under rubble while firing on the very man that had fought and bled alongside them. 

Chuckles knew deep down Orren could not betray them. 

He just couldn’t. 

_Then who is to blame?_

No one, perhaps? Fate? Himself? 

The mere mention of the Jedi at the meeting had sparked a long dormant flame within him. 

Retribution. 

He raised his hand again. 

“Officer?” 

“What is it, Chuckles?” 

“Where does the Empire store records on criminals or those convicted of high treason?” 

“That’s archival records, off-limits to the public.” 

“What if one had military clearance?” 

“Then perhaps. But it’s up on the surface in the Imperial Archives.” He stared quizzically at the question, but proceeded on. “Anyways, back to the agenda.” 

_It’s time to find some answers_. 

After the program had finished, the officer broke the leftover clones into one on one groups to discuss what had been taught. Chuckles hadn’t paid attention to almost any of it, so was left to fend for himself during the personal discussion. 

He sat across from Skyrocket, a former shock trooper who served under Aayla Secura on Felucia. 

Most of them just called him Rock at this point, as he was far from his old self. A messy, unkempt beard fell from his jaw, scraggly and in need of a comb. His eyes were weary and tired, and scars adorned his left cheek, as if the wildlife of Felucia was unkind to him. The only maintenance he performed on himself, was the weekly shaving of his head. The baldness, he felt, was still central to who he was, the rest be damned. 

“So,” Rock began. 

“So,” Chuckles replied. 

“You really think they didn’t do it?” He asked. 

“Do what?” Chuckles said. 

“Try to overthrow the Emperor. That was a real big accusation you made.” 

Chuckles took a deep breath, and lowered his tone. 

“To be honest with you Rock, no, I don’t.” He took a moment to watch his reaction. “Do you?” 

“Sometimes I question it. Sometimes we all do, whether or not the Jedi really were the ones in the wrong.” 

_Perhaps the programming was wearing off_ , he thought. 

“You just don’t say it aloud here?” 

“We would never. Officer Bridge would have our heads if we said what you did.” 

“He didn’t seem to come for me in any way.” 

“He knows you’re different.” 

“Different? How?” 

“He sees the way you act, hears the things you’ve asked before. He thinks the Jedi brainwashed you. Thinks you’re beyond his help, honestly.” 

“Is that what he says when I’m not around?” 

“Yeah.” Rock fiddled with his fingers, a blaze of shame rising on his cheeks. 

“And do you agree with him, Rock?” Chuckles inquired. Damn, he needed a drink. 

“Sometimes.” 

There was a brief silence. 

“Sometimes, we think you’re right. Each day is different. It’s strange how that works, yeah?” 

Chuckles knew exactly what he meant. 

“Yeah, it’s strange, Rock.” 

“We were just followin’ orders. When 66 came, we all felt compelled to-.. I dunno, save the Republic.” Rock frowned. “Good soldiers follow orders I guess.” 

“Yeah,” Chuckles uttered painfully, “good soldiers follow orders.” 

At the end of the session, Officer Bridge told them to be well, and to always obey the law when going about their daily lives. With that, he dismissed them, giving a sharp side-eye to Chuckles as he took to the exit alongside Rock. 

“I’m going to look into it more, Rock,” he said as they moved out onto the open street. 

“Wh-.. what do you mean?” 

“I’m going to see if the Jedi really did it. I’m going to find out.” 

“Be careful, Chuckles. I don’t think you should be doing that. It might be treason.” 

_Treason_. He’s heard enough of that word tossed around lately. It didn’t bother him anymore. He needed to know. For Tandem’s sake. 

“I’ll be fine, Rock. I promise.” 

“Alright then.. see you around.” 

“See you.” 

They parted ways, Rock heading deeper into the industrial sector of the district, while Chuckles eyed the turbolift station just beyond the intersection. 

It was time he finally got some answers. 

But first, he needed something. 

Taking a detour back home, Chuckles ventured into his personal locker and dug out some old belongings that he wished to keep hidden. 

With an exasperated sigh, he put them back on. 

Feeling more secure in his attempted endeavour, he journeyed back to the turbolift station, clad in his full trooper armor, helmet secured and locked around his head. 

A few passerbys glanced his way in suspicion, but none tried calling him out. It was frankly, none of their business. 

Awaiting the turbolifts, he eyed a somewhat dirty couple sitting awfully close together on a station bench. They were watching him intensely. 

“Can I help you?” His suit vocalizer emitted. 

“Fancy suit ya’ got there,” one of them said. 

“Yeah,” the other added. 

“It’s not for sale,” Chuckles replied. He knew how people were down there, and couldn’t risk losing his armor right now. 

“Could fetch a nice price for those pearly whites, once ya’ buff out the scars,” the man called. 

“I said, it’s _not for sale_ ,” he shot back, irritated. 

“Whatcha hidin’ in there anyway? Nobody wears those suits anymore. You’re outta’ date,” the woman retorted. 

Chuckles didn’t answer. The turbolift grinded to a halt at his feet, and a crowd of lower-level residents swarmed out around him like buzz-droids on a starfighter. 

He stepped into the turbolift, and punched in the destination. 

Not bothering to wait for anyone, he allowed the doors to close. 

Until a pair of hands grabbed them, seizing them open again. 

“I think it’s in ya best interest to hand over that suit!” The dirt-ridden man spat. 

Chuckles, thinking on the fly, delivered a swift kick to the man’s midsection, driving him to the ground, and leaving him rolling about in pain. 

As the doors glided to a shut again, the clone noticed a trio of Imperial guards approaching. 

_Damn it all_. 

The lift ascended, leaving them all on the platform below. 

But they had seen him. 

He began devising a plan to keep a low profile upon arrival, but his suit was a dead giveaway. Shedding it now would be suicide for his plan, however, as he needed the chain code embedded in it. 

All of the clones, upon retirement, were forced to hand in their gear to be deprogrammed and discarded. 

Chuckles never opted into that idea, finding comfort in keeping the armor himself. 

Today was a hell of a day to bring it back out. 

The turbolift soared through the levels of permacrete that made up Coruscant’s residential districts, passing slum after slum, with the occasional glitzy street of clubs and marketplaces zipping by. 

The darkness from the lower-levels pervaded the turbolift car, until he reached higher levels in the sprawl. By then, the smallest filters of light had begun to appear. 

Reaching an abrupt stop at his destination, the doors opened once more. He had reached the surface level of the ecumenopolis. Level 5100. 

This time, he wasn’t greeted by a couple of vagabonds, or inquiring Imperial guards. 

For the first time in five years, Chuckles was greeted by the warm rays of sunlight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the original idea I had for this story when I first thought of it. A depressed clone living out his days under the influence of drugs and alcohol in some grimy clubs on Coruscant. I eventually expanded it to include other clones, Jedi, and overall more Star Wars oriented stuff so it could be a bigger story. But when you read this chapter, just know that my first ideas for this story came from what happened in this chapter! A bit of trivia, haha.
> 
> I've been trying to speed up my chapters to get through everything so I can focus on other things in my life, so I can hopefully put out ~3 chapters a week if I stick to this schedule. I've now covered all of the original surviving clones from the first act, so things are steaming along pretty well now. I'll be cycling back around to each one before I move into the final act.


	11. Off the Grid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A powerful recluse is paid a visit by an unexpected figure.

**XI**

* * * * 

Auratera -- 14 BBY 

The bazaar was lively as morning grew into afternoon. 

A fair weather gale swept dried dirt from the streets around the tent city, provoking coughs from throughout the marketplace. 

Adults milled about, gazing over the produce and vegetables for sale as children ran free, engaged in various games of sport or skill to keep themselves preoccupied from their parents’ arduous shopping. 

One such child had no interest in games. 

A small and scrawny figure darted from stall to stall, under a fraying hood, hiding behind tables and peeking around corners before making his move. 

The boy was hungry. 

Weaving his way through the multitude of shoppers and patrons, his vantage point was a few meters below the average person. 

In a way, that helped him navigate the maze-like surroundings of the market, from one tent to the next. 

Rodian apples, Naboo nectarine, Alderaanian wines, Mon Calamari lobster. The choices were endless, fresh, and assorted neatly along row after row of color coordinated basket displays. 

Eyeing his selection, he ducked beneath a table sheet and waited for the coast to clear. 

When the last customer had left, he slowly crawled out, blindly reaching his hand over the edge of the table, feeling around for the circular and solid form of an apple. 

He was met with something else entirely. A clenched hand. 

Gripping his wrist and dragging him from under the table, the stall owner berated the boy for his behavior, accusing him of thievery and causing a rather unpleasant scene. 

“Who do you think you _are_? Stealing from _me_? Do you have any idea who I am kid?” 

The man was silver-haired and wrinkled, somewhat pudgy on the edges, and his hands were rough. 

Towards the boy, the man's words spat from his mouth, saliva spraying like a hose. He shook the captive juvenile for a moment, wrangling him to the ground and holding him down. 

“I’ll teach you to steal from me ya’ little hooligan!” 

The child’s soft expression had grown hard, terrified. He closed his eyes amidst a drowning of tears and prepared to be beaten for trying to entertain his gnawing hunger. 

The man raised his hand to punish the street-urchin. 

Bringing it down swiftly, it was interrupted by another, much stronger and firm grasp. 

The man looked up into a dark hood. 

“Wh-..” 

“Release the boy,” came the newcomer’s voice. The gravitas of his tone lifted the old man off of the child immediately. 

“Let go of me!” The old man wrenched his hand free, wringing it in pain. He glared at the boy, who recovered on the ground. A few passersby stopped to help him stand, before moving on with their browsing. 

“He is just a child. You will do better in your treatment of them,” the voice continued. His face could not be seen under the heavy fabric of the hood. 

The old stall-owner rolled his eyes and scoffed, waving the figure off. 

“Get outta here. You’re lucky I don’t call the Marshal on either of you.” 

“The boy is hungry. Here.” 

Ten credits were tossed to the geriatric merchant. He obliged with a strange look. 

Before he knew it, two apples were gone from his stall, in the hands of the robed stranger and the boy as they sauntered off into the crowd. 

Across the bazaar, the stranger sat the boy down against the wall of the town hall. 

“What did I tell you?” 

The boy looked away, avoiding his gaze while carving out a piece of the apple with his growing set of teeth. 

“If I’m going to steal, don’t get caught.” 

“Right. I can’t always save you Luko.” 

“I know, I know..” the boy looked into the darkness of the hood, feasting on his apple ravenously. 

Luko was perhaps only ten or eleven, but carried with him the spunk and spirit of a teenager. His hair was black and curly, matted down from hours under a hood himself. His bones were thin yet strong from his time on the streets of the village. The skin that covered his body was a burnished shade of bronze, having grown accustomed to life under the sun. 

A growing boy, he needed more nutrients than he usually got. But he made do for now, hoping one day soon the village orphanage would find him a parent. 

“You have perfectly good food at the children’s home,” the voice echoed. 

“It’s not _that_ good,” Luko sparred back. He had a point, it was mostly just bone broth and piecemeal offerings of poultry scraps that the matron managed to swindle from the marketplace herself. 

The children’s home was not funded by the village, so they made do with what they could find and from donations. Since the rule of the Imperials began, trade to Auratera slowed, and only the wealthy could afford hearty meals and luxurious items imported from the Core Worlds. 

Those who could spare the credits, often didn’t, feeling no obligation to feed and clothe children who were not theirs. 

It was an attitude of superiority that had festered on Auratera for decades, with the Clone Wars not ameliorating the situation, but instead it exacerbated it. The village’s wealthy felt that the galaxy had owed them something after centuries of living under poverty. 

When the townspeople struck gold in one of the nearby mines many years ago, they finally were able to enjoy the lives they had always dreamed, while leaving little for those who still suffered and could not profit from _their_ discovery. 

Their village was one of only four on an entire planet spanning ten-thousand kilometers in any direction. The world was sparsely populated, with only one spaceport for all of its citizens, in the capital townstead of Harron, forty kilometers from their muddy, forested hamlet of Klaria. 

Little Luko had never seen life beyond Klaria. 

“It’s good enough. You’re growing more by the day. You need the nutrients,” the stranger said, patting the child on the head as he finished his apple. The second one soon found his hands and he began to devour it as well. 

A few of the village’s nobles passed the pair, dressed in their finest silk robes and satin weaves, they eyed the two suspiciously. 

“They always look at me like that,” Luko said between mouthfuls, frowning. 

“It’s okay. They used to look at me the same way too.” The hood fell from the stranger’s head, resting around his shoulders. 

Luko goggled up at the man before him, a curious smirk wiped across his youthful features. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

The man’s hand met his chin, stroking a trimmed beard. His short brown hair parted neatly around his ears and swept across his forehead. The warmth in his viridescent eyes filled Luko with a sense of a calm unlike anything he had felt before. It was something he always enjoyed, as he felt welcome when around the man. 

“I grew up just like you did.” 

“No way! You’re just messing with me,” Luko teased, chewing deep to the core of the second apple. 

“I’d never lie to ya Luko. It’s true.” 

“You grew up here?” 

“Offworld. I was a few years younger than you when I was rescued.” 

“Rescued? By who? How did you end up here then?” 

_The curious mind of a child was never sated._

“Another time and I’ll tell you that story, yeah?” 

“You’re too cool to have ever been like me. I don’t believe you.” The child giggled. 

“Maybe one day I’ll take you there and show you.” 

“Show me what?” 

“Where I lived as a boy.” 

“I’d like that,” Luko replied. 

Smiling, the man looked skyward, reminded of his home if even for a moment. A home that was so distant, so far away. He knew he would never return. 

For Orren Kara, this was his home now. Auratera. 

“I gotta go Luko, _try_ not to get into any more trouble, yeah?” He ruffled the boy’s hair. 

“No promises Orren!” 

Orren smirked, shaking his head as the child ran off into the bazaar once again. 

He brought the hood back over his head and strolled off into the gaze of the afternoon sun, towards the village gates, becoming one with the crowd. 

Following a winding path just beyond the gates of Klaria, Orren found himself perched on a bluff overlooking the village, hovels and shops dotting the landscape, the bazaar faintly visible in the center of it all. 

Turning on his heels, he faced a small hut and parcel of land at the edge of the tree line to the sprawling forests. 

A dark green pourstone home, Orren had found it empty when he first arrived five years prior. Claiming it for himself and filing the necessary paperwork in Harron, he settled in a few days later, and got to work. 

Just behind the home lay a vast garden of various fruits and vegetables, beyond that, a small windmill with a weather vane fixed atop it. It spun wildly in the summer breeze, as Orren gazed out over his crop. 

It was a month away from harvest, but he was eager to gather his yield, usually opting to store it for the winter and give the rest to the children’s home. 

Just beyond the garden and his windmill, were the gnarled roots of a sprawling tree, rising skyward ever so gently by the day, growing larger by the year. 

Orren was shocked at how quickly it had grown from infancy, springing up nearly overnight, and steadily growing larger ever since. The one thing the tree lacked was the assortment of golden leaves that were typical for one of its species. Orren waited patiently for years to see them arrive in the spring, but they never did. 

The tree itself -- over time -- had created a canopy resembling a massive umbrella of wood that could be seen from all over the village below. 

Residents in Klaria had taken to calling Orren “the hermit on the hill,” as he was rarely seen in the village, and not many ever ventured up to him. 

Luko was always an exception, however. 

Orren admired the tree, stepping forward to examine its growing progress and eye his blushing Jogan fruits that were undergoing a swift flourish in the prime rows of the garden. 

Kneeling before his soon-to-be harvest, he delicately placed a single fruit in his palm, running an index finger across the surface to test its firmness. 

Meters behind him, at the edge of the bluff, stood a cloaked shadow, silent and watchful. 

Orren continued inspecting his fruit until the shadow spoke. 

“Glad to see you survived.” 

Orren nearly fell over in righting himself, turning in a frenzy and standing straight to a peak. His instinct would be to draw a saber, but he hadn’t carried one in five years. 

The shadow stepped closer as he stood his ground, and Orren watched the hood fall from a pair of montrals perched atop the figure’s head. 

He could recognize her anywhere. 

“ _Ahsoka_?” 

Orren blinked, barely believing his eyes. There she stood, five years of advanced age clearly visible from the last he saw her, but nonetheless, it was her. The lekku that drew downwards over her shoulder blades had lengthened considerably, and her eyes carried more wisdom and war within them. The maturation had indeed been swift, undoubtedly out of her control. 

A gray cloak draped over her frame, swaying in the wind. Beneath it, Orren could barely identify her pair of lightsabers. 

“Hello, Orren.” Her hands clasped behind her back and she righted her posture, eyeing him gingerly. 

“You’re alive.” 

“Surprised?” 

“Not at all,” Orren answered. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking for the right words. Solitude had been his life for five years. The man had never considered he would run into another Force-user again, much less a Jedi and a friend. 

But she defied his odds. 

“How did you find me here?” Orren continued. 

“We have a new mutual friend.” 

Orren thought back, five years prior, to his last meeting with his troopers and his savior. 

_“May I ask where you are going?”_

_“Somewhere green.”_

_“Green?”_

_“Yes. Where the Force dwells the most. I must leave the public eye behind.”_

_“If you need a ship, I can arrange it, just say the word.”_

He knew who that friend was, the only one it could have been. 

“Laeda.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ahsoka replied, “she only knows the planet, not the village.” 

“So, how’d you locate me then?” Orren said suspiciously, still in a state of relative shock at her apparent survival. 

“I felt a Force presence here.” 

“I--..” 

“Not you,” Ahsoka said, her eyes following a trail that led behind Orren altogether, and up the roots of the tree he so carefully had preserved. 

“It looks like I found it,” a smirk spread across her face. 

Orren tossed a glance behind him, eyeing his tree. 

“An Uneti,” he said, turning to face her again. 

“Like the one from the Temple.. may I touch it?” She asked. 

“Go ahead.” 

Orren stepped a few paces aside, watching her warily as she approached the roots at the base of the sprawling tree. 

_I thought I was the only one left_ , he thought. The clones had turned on their Jedi masters years ago, wiping out everyone. When he had arrived on Auratera, he felt nothing, _no one_. There was nothing left but him, and he felt alone. 

To see another Jedi almost brought a tear to his eye, as his mind was returned to a simpler time, before the dawn of the Clone Wars, when his master was still guiding his path. 

Her hand ran across the tree’s trunk, admiring its grooves and textured bark. He watched from afar. 

_Is this a trap?_ He wondered. _Was she sent here to gain my trust, and kill me_? _Was Laeda compromised_? His relative isolation had left him slightly more paranoid of the visitors Auratera received, and the possibility of being discovered one day by the Empire. Yet, she had done it with relative ease. 

But on the other hand, she _was_ Ahsoka Tano. Far from a slouch, padawan to the esteemed and beloved Anakin Skywalker. 

At least, beloved to the _galaxy_. The Council had always thought otherwise of Anakin, leaving Orren in a state of hesitancy towards the High Council’s priorities: their image, or their honor. 

Anakin was one of the only Jedi in the Order that Orren had shared a sense of mutual respect with. He looked up to Anakin, and eventually learned that they had both come from similar upbringings. 

On occasion, Orren had confided in the Force prodigy in regards to his frustration with the Jedi Council, and Skywalker always listened. Anakin’s padawan also held that kindness. 

Even though she was under the tutelage of Skywalker, Orren had never underestimated Ahsoka. They had sparred in the Temple often during their time as padawans. He was a few years older, and advanced through the trials before she could reach that milestone. 

She left in the final year of the war, and he still recalled his last memory of her. 

_“Orren!”_

_“Hey there. Long day?”_

_“You have no idea. Wanna spar?” Ahsoka egged him on._

_“Can’t today, Master Plo insisted I join him on a reconnaissance flight over Cato Neimoida, to prepare for a siege.”_

_“Aw. We’ve ran through that system a dozen times already. Bummer.” She frowned. “Well hey, there’s always next time!” With a slap on his shoulder, she hurried off to find her own master._

_“Yeah. See you!” He called after her._

She was convicted of murder and treason just four days later, and was cleared soon after. She left the Order the week following. He never saw her during or after her trial, and that was that. 

The woman he saw now was far more a warrior than a padawan, hardened over the years of fighting and tragedy. 

Orren, feeling stressed at the implications her appearance brought to the table, ran his fingers through his hair, his brown locks getting almost snarled in the process, and he swore in a wince of pain. 

“Has it always been here?” Ahsoka asked, her eyes not leaving the tree. 

“I planted it,” Orren replied. 

“With a seed? Does this planet have an Uneti merchant or something?” She giggled. 

He smiled in amusement, but was quick to clarify himself. 

“A podling, recovered from the Temple by a friend.” 

“I’m glad it fell back into the hands of a Jedi, and I hope the leaves grow in soon,” she finally averted her eyes from the tree, meeting his. 

He broke the stare, looking back to the Uneti once again, and its unique and twisting spiral to the sky above. After a moment of silence, she cracked the ice. 

“So, what are you doing out here Orren?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” His response oozed a tad more sarcasm than he anticipated, but he didn’t bother correcting his tone. 

“It looks to me like you found your green thumb.” 

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” 

“You could be out there fighting,” she shifted her mass, looking at him straight on now. He felt her stare burning through his soul, and a wellspring of shame rose from within him. 

“Our war is over, Ahsoka,” he muttered. 

“For the clones, maybe, for the droids, maybe. But not for us.” She paused, exhaling in subtle frustration. “We don’t get that luxury.” 

“What would you have me do then? Go knock on Sidious’ door?” Orren fired back. 

“I doubt he answers door knocks from strangers.” 

“Very funny.” 

“Fight _with us_. Push back against the Empire, they’re slaughtering hundreds of thousands, oppressing billions more by the month.” 

“I’m just one man. I can’t stand up against an Empire.” 

“I’m one woman, and I’m not alone in my fight, you wouldn’t be either.” 

“My fighting is done.” He turned away, looking to his hut, desperately seeking to hide inside and lock the door forever. 

“That’s not the Orren I know,” she mused. He scoffed under his breath, but she seemed to have noticed. “I’m surprised they haven’t found you yet.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s looking, other than you.” 

Ahsoka pondered his quote for a moment, until she realized. She _only_ felt the presence of vergences on Auratera, she _only_ felt herself as the sole Force-user in the system, in the sector even. Other than the tree, something else connected to the Force was on the planet, but it was not Orren. 

“You’ve cut yourself off….” 

“There was nothing left for me.” 

“What are you talking about?” She inquired, her gaze still intense upon him, not letting up for even a moment. 

“We lost, Ahsoka. The Jedi Order is dead,” Orren said. 

“The Order may be, but the Force is alive and well.” 

“The Force is broken.” 

“Because you feel no one out there?” 

“Because it let me down.” 

“How?” 

He took a second, gathering his thoughts and emotions, shutting his eyes. 

“Since I was a child, the Force has never let me down. I relied on it before I even knew what it was. It saved me from worse fates than you could imagine.” Orren took a breath, opening his eyes again. “At the end of the war, I felt a victory in the Force, and instead I was given a defeat. I _failed_ , and the Force didn’t save us. It led to the deaths of _thousands_ of my men, and almost my whole squad, and then they tried to gun me down. We lost everything. I cannot let that go.” 

Ahsoka’s face softened, and a slow warmth gathered in her cheeks to replace the cold stare that long permeated Orren’s spirit. 

“Orren,” she started, “none of us are perfect.” 

Orren shook his head, yet she continued. 

“Failure is a part of living, it is a powerful teacher. The Force guides us to our path. But it’s up to us to walk that path. It doesn’t do it for you. You should know that better than most. Master Plo told me about when he found you--..” 

“Ahsoka, don’t. Please.” 

She stopped herself. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

The long quiet that followed was unimaginable, but Ahsoka knew why he stopped her from continuing. She didn’t want to prod, but needed to hear it from him to affirm her own inference that was made years ago. Deep down, she _knew_ the truth, but needed to know in finality. 

Stepping towards him and out from the immediate shadow of the Uneti’s wide trunk, she posed the question. 

“You lost him then?” 

Orren felt it flooding back. 

_The silence in the Force was unprecedented. It felt fractured, lacking structure, lacking balance. There was nothing. No friends, no Jedi, no Order. It had all disappeared in the blink of an eye. The familiar presence of his master, always lingering no matter the distance across the galaxy, had burnt out with the rest of the fire. It was just him now._

“As far as I know. Yeah,” he said painfully. 

The silence enveloped them once more as Ahsoka quietly tended to her own grief. Plo Koon was the wise and honorable Jedi Master who had found her on Shili, and asked her parents if she could be brought to the Temple for training. They allowed it, wishing their beloved daughter well, and she waved goodbye to them from the rear seat of Plo’s starfighter, cruising into the atmosphere and away into hyperspace. 

She never saw her parents again. And now, she will never see Plo Koon again either. 

Yet, the pain she felt was probably incomparable to Orren’s. They were master and apprentice, the bond they shared had almost resembled father and son. Plo rescued Orren when he was young from a precarious situation, and while it was not truly Ahsoka’s business, Orren had given his master permission to recall the tale to her should she ever ask. She knew that the severed connection would be hard on him, and she loaned sympathy silently. 

“What about yours?” Orren asked, expecting only disappointment. 

“Yeah.” 

He blinked a few times, driving the invading tears away through sheer willpower, then turned to face her for the first time in what felt like ages. 

“So what is it you seek from me? Your presence here is dangerous for my village,” he said poignantly. 

She sighed, knowing the risk existed almost anywhere she went at this point. 

“I need your help.” 

“I’m not leaving this planet, Ahsoka.” 

“You don’t have to. But I need knowledge.. more knowledge.” 

“About?” 

“The temple on Ossus.” 

“What about it?” Orren asked. 

“It was raided. By the Empire.” 

“ _Raided_? That’s impossible, nobody could ever have found it.” 

“Somebody did, because I found leftover stormtrooper pieces and scattered debris all over the place.” 

“Stormtrooper?” 

“You really don’t get out much do you?” She asked with a half-smile. 

“I’ve been right here for five years,” Orren replied. 

“Anyways. I believe the Empire stole something from this temple. The underground levels appeared to be a containment room for something. Not as strong as a prison, but something was being held there.” 

“Ahsoka, the temple has been empty for countless millennia.” 

“What if we were taught wrong?” 

Orren mulled over the possibility. 

_Wouldn’t be the first time_. 

“So what do you need me for?” 

“I need to figure out what was down there so I can try and find it.” 

“I told you I’m not leaving.” 

“I know. I just need to know if you memorized the High Bendu or Whills alphabets. You were in a more advanced phase of training than I was.” 

“Yeah, that’s not something I easily forget.” 

“Great. Could you just.. write down the symbols for me? I still have the runes memorized, I can try to piece it together.” 

“Runes?” 

“On the floor there were runes carved, over what was the old mosaic.” 

“Give me a minute.” 

Orren retreated into his hut, only to return moments later with a bit of parchment and a pen. Pressed against his hand, he drew the symbols of two alphabets in order, before handing it over to her. 

Ahsoka inspected the letters briefly, putting together some of the symbols in her mind to correlate with the rune patterns. 

Orren watched her eyes light up as she seemingly worded it together. 

“I got it!” 

“Well, what is it?” His curiosity grew by the minute, as much as he swore it off subconsciously. 

She mouthed the letters first to ensure it was correct, before proceeding to read the translation that was spelled out. 

“The one lies dormant beneath, the one of light and dark. For all those who trespass, the shadow of chaos shall remain untouched. The chains shall remain bound. The judgment shall remain unbroken..” 

“The Force is one,” they read together, finishing the line. She shot him a look of satisfaction, but that soon resigned itself to confusion. 

“What does this even mean though?” She asked. 

“It sounds like whatever was down there, needed to _stay_ there,” Orren replied. 

“Do you think the Empire might be trying to use Jedi artifacts to their advantage?” 

“I’m not sure this sounds like an artifact, Ahsoka.” 

“Whatever it is, it’s powerful. I could feel it in the temple. It filled me with this.. _cold dread_ that I couldn’t shake for hours after.” 

“You need to be careful then. I’m sure Palpatine is digging up whatever he can now that he thinks the Jedi are gone.” 

“He doesn’t think that.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The Empire..” She sighed. “They have hunters.” 

“Hunters?” 

“Force-users, equipped to hunt Jedi. I’ve faced one before.” She remembered Raada. 

“So they’re still hunting us down?” 

“Yes. That’s why I was curious as to why they haven’t found you yet. They use the Force to track us down.” 

“Which means you need to be _careful_ Ahsoka,” Orren pleaded, almost out of character compared to the onset of their meeting. 

She nodded, folding the parchment into a few squares. 

“Can I keep this?” She asked with a grin. 

“It’s yours,” he said, obliging with no issue. 

She started towards the bluff facing the village, arms crossed over her chest. 

The wind had died down to just a faint breeze, echoing through the distant valleys and careening through the red trunked coniferous forests, leaving just a whisper that tickled at the hems of their robes. 

He joined, standing alongside her in silence. 

“Come with me Orren.” 

The man stood silent, strands of hair fluttering in the breeze. 

“I can’t.” 

“The galaxy needs us now. More than ever.” 

“Then go save it Ahsoka.” He turned to her. “You have the support, I know you can.” 

She said nothing, watching the tiny villagers herd in and out of the village gate below. Closing her eyes, she inhaled softly, focusing on the moment if only for a second. 

Releasing her breath, her eyes opened, and she looked to Orren. The deep blues of her irises gleamed in the afternoon sun, hiding years of memories. 

Without saying another word, she began to walk away. 

“Ahsoka,” he called out. 

“I’m still a believer in Orren Kara,” she said, pulling the hood back over her head. “Even if you’re not.” 

Orren stopped in his tracks on the climax of the trail, and watched Ahsoka descend down the bluff towards the village, and eventually, out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Ahsoka brings back some much needed spirited optimism.. to a rather bleak story -- so far. 
> 
> Thank you so much to anyone who's stuck around to continue reading! I know pairings/smut is way more popular than just a character driven drama, but I really had no idea where else to post this online for people to read. Thanks again for following along. Much more in store.


	12. Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dynamo and the bacta smugglers come face to face with their employers. Both of them.

**XII**

**** 

Thyferra -- 14 BBY 

Dynamo jolted awake in his bunk, cold sweat locked on his forehead. He seized a deep breath, steadying his pulse. 

A persistent nightmare that continued to haunt his cerebral slumber. 

Rolling out of his bunk to find the moisture dispenser, he splashed cool water across his face, and took a towel to dry. 

“You’re up early.” 

He turned. Al was watching him. 

“Another nightmare?” She asked delicately, her expression soft. 

Dynamo nodded with a sigh. 

She approached, tracing his cheek with the back of her hand. 

“You can talk to me about these things, D. Remember?” 

He didn’t speak, leaning his face into her hand before grasping it with his own. 

“I know,” he finally said. 

“We’re in this together, okay? Let me help you,” Al replied. 

Dynamo knew she couldn’t do much. Al had never been to war the way he had. She hadn’t seen the things he had. While he adored her, and one day sought a future with her, he knew she could never relate to him properly. 

None of the Sapphire Angels were able to, not even Jol, who had taken part in an insurgency on Onderon during the war. 

Only his brothers could. Yet they were long gone. Like leaves in the wind, scattered to who knows where. 

Gently removing her hand from his face, he stepped past her towards his locker, as she lingered for a moment, savoring the snippet of emotion she got out of him. 

“Might wanna suit up soon,” came another voice. Dynamo looked up and noticed a third bunk in the room was empty. 

Kya was standing in the doorway, fingers tapping at the durasteel frame. 

“We’re almost there.” 

The pair gave her a look of understanding, and she whisked herself towards the cockpit, crimson waterfall of curls trailing after her. 

“Is she okay?” Dynamo asked Al. 

“She’s been under a lot of stress from this mission.” 

“Haven’t we all? We aren’t hunters.” 

“I know, D. But you _know_ how much Dyz offered to pay us. This could change everything.” 

Dynamo shrugged. The money wasn’t his goal. He just wanted to make a difference. Clear his conscience. _Something_. Delivering bacta across the galaxy to those oppressed under the thumb of Imperial rule filled his spirit in a way that money could not. But he never made that sentiment public. His actions spoke loud enough. 

“Coming out of hyperspace in one minute, ladies and gents, strap yourselves in.” 

A few strides across the bunk room, and Dynamo perched himself next to the viewport, eyes wandering beyond the transparisteel to observe the light trails of hyperspace giving way to empty space and distant star systems. 

Al flanked him, placing an arm around his shoulder as they observed a small planet coming into view. 

“Thyferra,” the ship’s intercom crackled. “Dyz should be waiting for us.” 

“Let’s get the target straightened up,” Al remarked. Dynamo nodded as she left, her hand trailing across his neck. 

In the cargo bay, the scientist sat propped up against the bulkhead of the Lancer, sighing in exasperation when the pair appeared. 

“These cuffs hurt, ya know,” he said. 

“Nothing I can do about that, sorry,” Al replied, helping him to stand. 

“Who is it you’re bringing me to?” 

“Dyz Exum.” 

Dynamo watched the man gulp, his Adam's apple nearly convulsing in apprehension. 

“The bacta lord?” He asked. 

“You’d be correct,” she answered, gently pushing him forward towards the front of the ship. 

In the cockpit, Jol and Kya sat, monitoring sensor readings and climate patterns as they descended into the atmosphere, thermal flames licking at the ship’s shields. 

“We’ll wind through this canyon system, should bring us to his backdoor,” Jol muttered under his breath, eyeing the topography of the northern hemisphere. 

“That’s fine. Just keep us low. I’ll watch the scanners for other craft.” 

“Still think it’s a trap, Kya?” 

“You know me, Jol.” 

He chuckled. 

“Yeah. I know you.” His hand briefly found hers as they exchanged soft looks. 

Dynamo called up to the cockpit as they neared the loading ramp. 

“Hey Jol! How much longer?” 

“We’re landing in five, D! Hold tight.” 

Exiting the upper atmosphere, Jol piloted the craft beneath a thick layer of storm clouds. Emerging from the deck, the landscape of Thyferra swept into view. 

“Dyz always brags about the place, never thought it would look like this..” Kya said, transfixed by the vistas. 

Craggy granite mountains and spiked canyons covered the landscape. Between the canyons, hung low clouds of mist and fog, punctuated only by the towering quartzite spires that Thyferra had become famous -- or infamous -- for. 

Navigating through the granite canyons was an arduous difficulty for many pilots, new and experienced alike. Jol had never flown on the planet before, but heard horror stories of ships ending up charred at the floor of the canyon, cloaked in the fog for too long to see a quartzite spire split your hull in two. 

The spired rock formations were tall and rather lanky, rising hundreds of meters above the ground, perhaps thousands for a few of them. Trees and lush vegetation grew at the pinnacle of some. While the mountains provided a scenic backdrop, the inner canyons in the foreground were what most paid attention to. 

_They had no choice_. 

“Hang on!” Jol called, “this could get rough.” 

Banking the Lancer down into the nearest canyon, he swerved around the first two spires, delving into a heavy fog that blanketed the viewports around the ship. 

“Scanners are clear,” Kya said, while monitoring them. “Nothing but rock formations ahead, no ships.” 

“Be my second pair of eyes, Ky,” he replied, never taking his eyes away from the cockpit’s viewport. 

“You got it.” 

Dynamo and Al, in the next compartment over, were thrown to the side as Jol kicked the Lancer to the left, shooting around a wider spire that blocked a large portion of canyon access ahead. 

“Five klicks, Jol,” Kya told him. 

“Just let me know when I’m half a klick away,” he murmured. 

He disengaged the last automated control and went full manual. Keeping his hands gripped on the throttle and yoke, his ears remained listening for the acceleration compensation monitor. 

Out of the canyon’s mist, came another spire, nearing them at ludicrous speeds. 

Streaking back to the right side, Jol yanked the yoke, and the Lancer tore around the curve, missing the spire by just a few feet. 

“Cutting it close, Jol.” Kya said. 

“I know, _I know_ , just keep an eye on the distance.” 

The display monitor had illuminated Kya’s face in vivid blue, and she noticed the closing distance. 

“Under a klick.” 

“Alright.” He let up a bit on the throttle, as they entered another cloud of fog. This one was thicker than the rest, and he hoped that his reduced speed would make it easier to react to oncoming objects. 

“Watch out!” Kya warned. 

Jol had already planned on it. 

Seizing the yoke, he flipped an accelerator switch, rerouting all shield power to the engines. 

The Lancer surged skyward and then to the left, soaring past the spire at a dangerously close distance. Excessive G-forces imposed on the ship were toned down by the inertial dampeners, but inflicted immense pressure on the ship’s integrity. 

The acceleration compensation klaxon began to sound. Right on cue. 

“Jol..” 

The ship struck the base of the spire, screeching against the hull and sounding another alarm. 

Blasting past the pillar of rock, the fog persisted, and Jol waved off the wailing alert. 

“It’s a malfunctioning alarm, ignore it.” 

“But we _hit something_ Jol!” 

“I know. That alarm goes off every time you hit something without shields.” 

“Isn’t that the poi-.. nevermind.” 

Deeper in the ship, Dynamo was helping Al stand to her feet as the captive scientist gripped the ramp buttress with one of his cuffed hands, hanging on for dear life. 

Blowing through the fog layer into an empty patch of sky, they found themselves looking at their destination. 

A sprawling complex built atop multiple spires, durasteel bridges connecting one spire to the next, all perched under the protective covering of mist that hovered above the entire area. 

“So this is why the canyon is the only way in,” Kya said. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t even be able to find this place from above. Smart protection,” Jol replied, easing the ship lower. 

On the central spire, sat the main facility, the nexus of the base. It appeared to be -- at first glance -- an old temple, with sharp pagoda-like features jutting out from the corners and center. Numerous stone-carved statues and obelisks dotted the grounds around the structure, but any further details were too obscure to notice. 

A few hundred meters below, carved into the base of an adjacent spire, was the spaceport, equipped with four shielded hangar bays. 

“This is _Paragon_ requesting hangar access, copy,” Jol spoke. 

“ _Paragon_ this is base control, do you have the requirement?” 

“We do.” 

“You are clear to land in hangar four then, copy.” 

Passing through the hangar bay shield, a plume of grimy soot formed around the landing repulsors as the _Paragon_ came to a rest on the deck. 

Dynamo and Al glided down the lowering ramp with Dyz’s quarry in tow. 

Kya and Jol followed soon thereafter, heavily armed, examining the interior of the hangar bay. 

It was polished, quiet, and rather traditional. Statues guarded the exits and paintings were neatly arranged on the rear walls. Some of the more modern and technologically advanced equipment that could be found in nearly any hangar on an Imperial world were absent here. Machinery that seemed decades old rolled about in seemingly pristine condition, while a few astromech and refueling droids scurried about, looking for something to do. 

“Looks like Dyz keeps his hangars.. _Ship-shape_?” Jol said casually. 

“You’re funny,” Kya said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to look at a painting while refueling their ship.” 

“Easy on the eyes, I s’ppose. Beats staring at dull permacrete,” came the reply. 

Moving across the deck, they were intercepted by four guards, who silently approached. The figures were like black wraiths, almost floating across the deck in armor that was as dark as the night sky. Their triangular helmets were identical, with a one-way transparisteel visor that captured their surroundings but allowed no one to see their eyes. Charcoal-colored cloaks trailed after them as they moved. 

Coming face to face, neither group spoke. The silence pervaded and became especially awkward after a few moments. 

“We’re here to see Dyz,” Al finally spoke up, nodding to their captive. 

The guards nodded in unison, and beckoned the group to follow. 

Jol looked wary but proceeded at the back end, watching their surroundings and keeping his trigger hand tensed. 

Walking the captive through the exit, Dynamo’s gaze found the guards’ weapons, which remained holstered across their backs. Short vibroblades, two for each guard. 

_Powerful enough to make a statement_ , he thought. 

Crossing the bridge to the main facility, Dynamo tried not to think about the height, but he looked anyway. Gawking out of the walkway windows, the drop was nearly a kilometer drop to a dark canyon floor below. 

Who knew what ship wreckage or debris lay scattered about the canyon graveyard. Or how many bodies. 

The main complex at the hub of the base was situated on the central spire, the largest by far. Having crossed the walkway, the group admired the obelisks that were scattered across the grounds, as birds sang from a nearby tree. 

Fresh patches of grass grew around the brick path, with not a single weed making its way into the brickwork itself. It had been manicured almost perfectly. Without flaw. 

“Imagine the landscaping bill for this guy,” Jol quipped. 

The four-story pagoda-shaped temple took up most of the peak, with a few turbolaser batteries flanking it on either side. At the rear of the temple, was a large extension, hanging over the edge of the spire itself, but supported with multiple foundation beams driven directly into the rock for added security. 

The temple itself, at first glance, was massive. But following the guards inside, the team soon realized the breadth of Dyz’s ambitions firsthand. 

The inner atrium was gargantuan, in what had to be an optical illusion -- or it just took up all four stories itself. A great golden chandelier hung down from the ceiling nearly fifty feet above, basking the great hall in a warm and inviting glow. 

Armed guards stood at every entrance, exit, doorway, ascent, and descent within the complex. The group made note of each as they passed them, as still as the stone and as silent as the night, without fail. 

Following the main passageway -- which was painted in a deep scarlet -- the floor gave way to long, ornate rugs that softened their footsteps as they approached the final doorway. 

The four guards moved to their posts, standing guard symmetrically inside the vestibule, just beyond the partition to the main room within. 

Dynamo pushed the scientist forward, noticing a few droplets of sweat on the older man’s hairline. 

_He was scared_. 

To be fair, Dynamo wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Being his first dealing with Dyz personally, he reminded himself to keep a low profile. His helmet remained on the ship, and he did not realize the error in that decision until they were already entering the rustic hall. 

Situated at the end of the mostly wooden room was a wide seat, resembling a throne, with gold and silver ornamentations dressing up the wall behind it. 

Along the sides of the hall were six enormous tanks, three to each side. Within them was a cool blue bacta, swirling within their own micro-environments. 

Jol paused to examine one, his hand meeting the glass in curiosity. 

“You may look.” 

Jol jumped at the voice. 

“But you may not touch.” 

Entering from his adjacent quarters, was the man himself. 

Dyz Exum. 

Rather short and stout in stature, he made up for it with his mysterious features. He boasted eyes as cloudy as the fog that enshrouded his fortress, and rather imposing arms, resembling those of a brawler. 

Middle-aged, Dyz appeared to be having no mid-life crisis of the sorts, as he was clad in flashy, expensive robes with traditional designs woven carefully into them. His crisp, steel-colored hair was swept back into a keen ponytail. Only the faintest hint of an age line resided on his finely groomed face. 

He rose to his throne, as his attendant accompanied and observed him. The five stopped just short of the steps to the seat, all of their eyes fixed on their employer. 

“You are now in the presence of noble and honorable Dyz Exum, fourth of the seven Bacta Lords of Thyferra, regent of Equatoria, purveyor of kikolium bacta,” said his attendant, a younger robed woman. 

Dyz clapped his hands together, remaining silent. 

“You are expected to bow,” she continued. 

They proceeded to do so in near-unison, followed by a look of pure joy from Dyz. 

Dyz Exum was as cordial as he was vicious. 

One of the most notorious crime bosses in the galaxy, he had built his empire around a rare type of bacta. Nicknamed “kiko,” or short for kikolium, it was more viscous and powerful in its healing capabilities than that of your typical bacta. Having ferried the medical liquid for years for other cartels, he gradually consolidated his own power base and garnered a reputation as a tough-as-nails bacta lord with a knack for high fashion, antiquities, and his personal code of honor. 

Pursing his lips together, Dyz eyed them over, one by one. Taking an extra moment to inspect Dynamo, he completed his sweep and clapped his hands again. 

Four additional guards appeared, from parts unknown. Their armor was heavier than the previous set, and they carried vibro-katanas across their backs, with sideloader pistols attached to their waists. They stood at attention flanking Dyz on both sides, his personal attaché. 

“I must say,” Dyz began. “You all look rather dashing.” He was impressed, making notes of their clothing. 

“You there,” he pointed to Kya. 

She blinked. 

“That appears to be Corellian leather, is it not? Some of the finest in the galaxy,” he smiled. 

Kya nodded gradually, not saying a word. 

“And you, clone,” he moved his attention to Dynamo. “Armor manufactured on Eriadu, yes? It holds up well against blaster fire, I hear.” 

Dynamo gave a simple reply. 

“Aye.” 

“Now.” Dyz spoke, voice as cool as a still pond, “what is it you’ve brought me?” 

His two hands came together, pressed into a triangle as he spoke. The eyes of their employer lay upon the scientist, not wavering in the slightest. 

“The target you requested,” Jol spoke for the group. “Dr. Shelvin Loti, extracted directly from Theed.” 

Dyz crossed his legs, furrowing a brow at the doctor. 

“A doctor,” Dyz said. “What is it you studied?” 

Dr. Loti looked rather confused, in a mixture of fear and hopelessness. 

“I uh-.. attended a university on Coruscant. I-..I studied bacta research and applications on cell regrowth.” 

“A man of principle, then, I assume?” Dyz smirked. “I can admire that. You studied for long, hm?” 

The doctor nodded shakily. 

“Eight years.” 

“Tsk tsk tsk, _eight years_?” Dyz asked, vague curiosity carving its way into his inflections. 

“Yes.” 

Al glanced up to Dynamo, slightly worried. Her expression was not returned. 

“You must understand why I hired these fine people to retrieve you, don’t you, my good sir?” 

“I-I do not.. no.. cloning is outlawed by the Empire.” Dr. Loti was beginning to stammer further, and Dyz waved his hand. 

“It turns out, you’re not the one for me,” he said plainly. The doctor shifted a bit in his stance, still somewhat confused. 

“ _In fact_ ,” the bacta lord continued, “I was hired myself, to fetch you.” 

Jol and Kya looked to each other in perilous skepticism. 

“However. I’m not a man known to get my hands dirty -- not anymore at least..” Dyz mused to himself. “So I hired these beautiful men and women to grab you instead.” 

“Sounds like you didn’t want _the heat_ ,” Kya said, annoyance present on her tongue. 

“You will watch _your tone_ around Lord Exum,” the attendant responded. 

Dyz chortled, waving off the attendant to his chamber. 

“When you learn who hired _me_ , you’ll understand far more why I contracted you, my best runners.” 

“We’ve betrayed you four times,” Jol said. 

“Exactly. In this business that makes you my best runners,” Dyz smiled, opening his arms cordially, “come now, my friends. We’re not enemies. We just do good business, yes?” 

Dynamo considered moving his hand to the blaster that was holstered along his belt, but knew that any of the four guards could have been watching him from within their helmets. 

_What the hell is he talking about_? He thought. _Who hired_ him _then_? 

“Sure, right,” Jol replied. “Now if you just give us what we agreed on, we’ll be on our way out, and you can do what you want with him.” 

“Leaving in such a hurry?” Dyz exclaimed. “Nonsense! You’re my distinguished guests.” 

Al rubbed her shoulder against Dynamo, and he knew what it meant. She was uneasy. 

“You’ll have to meet the benefactor first,” Dyz continued. “Because _she_ hasn’t paid _me_ yet. So, I cannot pay _you_.” 

“And you think this person will pay you now?” Kya said, growing frustrated. 

“Now that they’ve seen the target has been acquired, precisely,” he replied. 

Dyz then clapped his hands. 

In response, two black-lit screens descended from the ceiling on either side of him. 

A voice called out from the entryway to the throne room. 

“My lord.” 

Dyz looked up to the figure in the vestibule. 

“ _She has arrived_.” 

“Excellent. Now we can get this show on the road,” Dyz said pleasantly. 

Dynamo narrowed his eyes. Something didn’t feel right about this, but he hung back and waited patiently to receive their agreed pay. 

The two screens lit up, displaying the shape of a ship in the atmosphere, with a shuttle dispatching to the surface. 

“Is that your benefactor?” Jol asked. 

“My security scanners never lie. See for yourself,” Dyz answered tastefully. 

The four squinted their eyes, examining the screen closest to each. 

Dynamo knew that shape. He could recognize it _anywhere_. It was the vessel that ferried them from system to system during the endless war. The wedge-shape became synonymous with Republic military power. 

A Venator Star Destroyer was parked in the atmosphere. 

Painted in the stark, militaristic Imperial gray, a narrow black stripe ran vertically up the hull from bow to bridge towers. It was unlike anything the Empire had fielded in space engagements, openly defying the grand color scheme orchestrated by Palpatine himself. 

“Their shuttle has landed,” the voice returned to Dyz. 

“Good. Escort them here,” he replied smoothly. 

Dynamo began shuddering. Al eyed him, and in no time she picked up on it, looking on in concern. His eyes remained fixated on the screen, perplexed and utterly afraid by what he saw. 

It was a reminder. A war relic he sought to forget. 

“You were hired by _Imperials_!?” Kya exclaimed, temper flaring, a rose-color ascending in her cheeks. 

“The price was too pretty to ignore, darling,” Dyz shot back. 

“If it wasn’t for the damn Imperials, we wouldn’t have had any issues picking up the target. Why wouldn’t they just grab him themselves?” 

Dyz pursed his lips. 

“Our good Dr. Loti here is on the Emperor’s watchlist. Cloning is _outlawed_ , as he said. The old scientists are all monitored, and any Imperial officer found harboring them could face execution.” 

“So they hired an outside force to pick him up under the Emperor’s nose?” Jol asked. 

“That’s right,” Dyz said. “Or at least.. that’s what I’ve deduced. I don’t know much more than you do.” 

“ _Great_ , so now _we’re_ the ones on the watchlist,” Jol muttered under his breath. 

Dynamo remained uncomfortably still, waiting, listening. 

The sound of boots marching became audible. All at once, in perfect rhythm. A squad of troops perhaps, though he didn’t dare turn around to confirm his suspicion. 

The marching grew closer, and more ominous, until they reached the very precipice of the throne room. Like a gathering storm. A living reckoning. Menacing spectres on arrival. 

“You may enter,” Dyz called out. The others turned to see, Dynamo remained rooted. 

Dyz eyed the clone curiously, but said nothing as he stood from his seat to greet the arrivals, opening his arms in welcome. 

Polished black boots impacted the hardwood floor in concert. 

The troopers were dressed in some of the finest armor Imperial credits could afford. Glossy, jet black plastoid, reinforced with nanoparticles that gave it protection from lightsaber blows. Their helmets were those of former clone paratroopers, repainted in a black and red design. Short capes fell from their shoulders, and heavy DC-15s burdened their arms. 

They were the symbol of the Empire’s elite special forces divisions. 

The Purge Troopers. 

At the lead were two, one of whom carried an orange accent on their black armor instead of red, perhaps denoting the squad leader. 

The second was a woman, carrying her strides with precision. Dressed in the traditional Imperial uniform of a sector governor, their color scheme differed, opting for an all black suit rather than the green-gray sported by most. 

Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, fitted beneath the tight cap that covered her head. She stopped just beyond Dynamo’s group, staring at Dyz himself. 

The officer’s gaze was colder than ice, like a gale-force blizzard on Ilum, sweeping across the ice-hardened plains and ice flats, sparing no innocent soul trapped within. 

She held her hands behind her, standing poised and expectant. Saying nothing, Dyz initiated instead. 

“It is good to see you again.” 

“Cast aside the pleasantries, _Exum_. You know why we’re here.” Her voice rolled cleanly from the tongue, harsh and clinical, with the temperature of permafrost. 

“That I do, _Moff Vantu_.” He waved his arm towards the Sapphire Angels, who stood gathered around his throne with Dr. Loti between them. Beckoning the Moff forth to examine her prize, she shook her head. 

Dynamo froze, chills colder than the prevailing winds on Hoth spilling down his spine like the flow of oil. 

Vantu. 

_Admiral Vantu_. 

He thought his ears were playing a trick on him, but he knew her bitter, stately tone anywhere. Having commanded the transport and protection of the 404th for over two years, the clones had grown used to her grudging pragmatism and powerful resolve for desirable outcomes. 

Then he remembered Quermia. 

_Karma said they were killed. Destroyed. All of them._

Did he miss one? 

This wasn’t happening. It _couldn’t_ be happening. Seeing a clone in Theed was one ordeal, it could be shrugged off as a freak accident. But encountering your former admiral, long thought dead, while under the employ of one of the fiercest criminal lords in the Inner Rim? 

This was a nightmare, _and he would know_. 

“You left quite a mess on Naboo,” she replied. 

“Guess that means we were doing our job right then,” Jol interjected smugly. Dyz shot him a look. 

The curl of a smirk tugged at the edge of her lips. 

“You did well. But it appears _one of you_ isn’t capable of displaying the respect an Imperial Moff deserves.” 

Her eyes found Dynamo’s back, who was still rigid, a victim of shock. 

“She’s speaking to you, boy,” Dyz said. 

Dynamo nodded hurriedly, but could not move. 

“ _Acknowledge her_ ,” he urged. 

He turned slowly on his heels to face her. Their eyes met instantly, and she withdrew in surprise. 

“A _clone_!” She exclaimed in faux shock. 

Dynamo exhaled sharply in frustration, keeping his emotions in check as Al interlocked her fingers with his. 

The lead trooper at her flank raised his rifle, the charge of plasma could be heard. 

Reactively, Jol and Kya raised their rifles in defense of their clone companion. 

Vantu never wavered, nor even blinked. She raised her hand to the rifle at her side and brought it down. 

“Lower your weapon commander, we don’t want to make a mess of things for Lord Exum, do we?” 

“No sir,” the commander said, helmet vocalizer sounding garbled. 

Dyz rolled his eyes. 

Vantu returned her attention to Dynamo. 

“Defector? Deserter? What are you?” She asked calmly. 

“Honorable discharge,” Dynamo lied. 

“For?” 

“Advanced age.” 

She chuckled. 

“Criminality must be your new vice, eh?” 

He did not reply. She pressed him further. 

“What division were you, trooper?” 

Dynamo visibly winced at the mention of _trooper_. His opponent definitely noticed. 

He knew that admitting his allegiance to the 404th would draw even further unwanted attention. Something else was needed. Another lie. 

“...the 212th Battalion,” he mustered to say. 

The trooper commander stepped forward to equal Vantu, while his rifle became gripped rather aggressively. Dynamo couldn’t see through the transparisteel of his visor, but he could feel the unflinching stare from his armored counterpart. 

“Well, well, well. What a _coincidence_ , you served under Kenobi then,” Vantu said sardonically. She placed a hand on the shoulder of her commander. 

“ _Trooper_ , I would like you to meet someone. Your former commander.” 

Dynamo winced again, blinking at the black and orange trooper, in silent pain. His palms were beginning to sweat and the room felt cold. 

Vantu smirked, introducing her right hand man. 

“You may have known him during the war as _Cody_.” 

Commander Cody. Second-in-command to famed Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Cody was renowned for his skill and tactic on the battlefield, and his notable friendships with the Commanders Rex and Wolffe. Once a figurehead of the Republic’s war effort, he became a twisted pawn of Palpatine’s machinations in one fell stroke. How he came into league with former Admiral Vantu was unknown. 

Dynamo grew red. He knew he was screwed, and he wouldn’t hesitate to throw himself over the edge of Dyz’s balcony in that very moment. 

Cody raised his rifle again, charging the plasma. Jol and Kya’s defensive stances persisted. 

“He’s lying,” Cody said. This time, his vocalizer worked just fine. The voice was distinctively that of a clone, or semantically, the voice of Jango Fett. 

“How can you tell?” Vantu asked. 

“His threat hostility is rising, I can detect it in his temperature output.” 

Moff Vantu searched Dynamo with her eyes before smirking. 

“You wouldn’t raise a weapon against a superior officer, would you _trooper_?” 

Dynamo grew more unnerved, swaying back and forth in anxiety. His eyes fell to the floor, emotions rushing around the room. Inside, he was screaming. Outside, he looked dead. 

At that moment, he _would_ raise a weapon, but not to Cody. To her. His temper remained buried, fortunately. 

Dyz took heed of the man’s blatant body language, interrupting. 

“Vantu. Please. Let us settle this deal and be done with it.” 

“Ah yes, Dyz. I almost forgot you were here,” Vantu smiled up at the one seated on the throne, which she eyed. “Does that throne make you feel powerful?” 

“I beg your pardon?” He replied. 

“Do you feel influence over others from that seat? Do you feel important?” 

“You dare step into _my house_ and question _my status_?” 

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Vantu retorted, looking back to Cody. “Fetch him.” She felt confident that _she_ wielded the power in that room, not Dyz. 

Cody latched the rifle to his belt, stepping forward to seize Dr. Loti. 

Dyz’s guards immediately found pistols in their hands, all four aiming point-blank at Cody’s helmet, who then froze. 

“Dyz. Lower your weapons,” she said. 

“Where is my payment?” 

“That deal is off. I’m here for what’s mine now,” she sneered. 

“You either _pay up_ or you can get the hell out of my fortress.” 

Jol and Kya kept their rifle sights focused on the five troopers behind Vantu, who had not moved a muscle. 

“You think I lack honor? That I will bend the rules whenever it suits me like an Imperial?” Dyz scoffed. 

“No. I just think you lack the means to stop me,” Vantu said. 

“Try me.” 

She raised her hand, and with it, the remaining five troopers drew rifles to their sights, keeping their aims fixed on Dyz and Jol, respectively. 

“I will be taking him, Dyz.” 

“Why do you want him anyway?” Kya spoke up, watching Cody’s movement as he edged closer to them under the cover of his men. 

“Oh my dear,” Vantu started, “he’s essential to building order.” 

“Order?” 

“Of course. Something this galaxy will be sorely lacking in the coming years.” 

“I’d wager your Empire does a good job at that.” 

She waved Kya off. 

“Don’t be absurd. The Empire is nothing more than a bunch of oversized ships and walkers, imposing their will but spread oh too thin across a vast galaxy.” 

“I’m not following.” 

“The Empire cannot hope to maintain order across such an impressively lawless galaxy. Someone is bound to slip through the cracks eventually and bring the Emperor’s house of cards tumbling down. I’m preparing for that day.” 

“And you think that person seizing power will be you?” 

“Perhaps not. But when the time comes, the good doctor here will assist the transition to order. Empowering a prize I pillaged from the Jedi on Ossus, to _take care_ of all who oppose.” The Moff couldn’t resist an opportunity to gloat, beaming in pride at an accomplishment that few understood. 

Dyz’s guards remained fixed on Cody, as he neared the Sapphire Angels and Dr. Loti. 

“Take one more step commander, and your helmet will be gaining a new color,” Dyz said. 

Dynamo, lost in his own consciousness, snapped to reality, noticing the encroaching commander on his team. His hand detached from Al’s and slipped down to his blaster holster. 

Moff Vantu sighed. 

“I really didn’t want it to come to this Dyz, I didn’t.” 

“Then pay up.” 

“I expect you to handle the costs for these spacefaring vandals,” she motioned to Jol and Kya. 

Dyz remained silent, musing over his own thoughts as the standoff held. Finding the right words, he attempted to use them to his advantage. 

“It’s a shame that I know why you refuse to pay.” 

“Oh? Do enlighten me.” 

“Your little _pet project_ over on Baradas. You think it’s a secret, don’t you?” 

Vantu shifted a bit, growing uneasy for the first time. Dyz smirked and pushed her further. 

“I know exactly what you’ve been doing, and that’s why you refuse to admit it. You’ve bankrupted yourself on that little conquest and I’ve caught onto you.” 

The Moff’s uneasiness dissolved, and only anger replaced it. 

“I grow tired of this,” she spat, turning towards the doors. “Troopers. _Clean it up_.” 

The room grew quiet in the seconds that followed. 

Everyone knew what that meant. 

Dynamo wrenched his pistol from its holster as a storm of blaster fire erupted across the room. 

With a pair of immaculate shots, two of Dyz’s guards collapsed on the floor. 

The blaster fire bounded off the armor of the purge troopers, wailing across the throne room like streaking plasma missiles. 

Dynamo grabbed Al by the shoulder and threw her to the ground behind one of the support beams that ran to the ceiling as a few bolts grazed their gear, singing the mesh in Al’s clothing. 

Cody, simply walking through the blaster fire, approached Jol and lifted him by the throat as Kya ducked down behind another beam and dragged Dr. Loti with him. 

Another of Dyz’s guards came forward with his vibro-katana, surgically dismantling the troopers’ weapons, slicing cleanly through each DC-15, only to be kicked to the floor with the overwhelming strength of the soldiers themselves. 

As he attempted to stand in defense, the four troopers brought down thudding blows onto the guard, and he shrunk back down as another fatality. 

Dyz swept from his throne, two swords appearing in his hands as he ducked to avoid blaster fire. He dove at Cody, knocking him backwards with the blow of the swords, as Jol dropped, clutching his throat in distress. 

The other purge troopers, scanning the room, located Dr. Loti with their HUD sensors. They approached him, igniting their electrobatons to bluntly swing at another of Dyz’s guards with nearly decapitating strikes. 

Kya rained blaster fire down on the troopers, but it did nothing but slow them down, while the deflected bolts landed in a nearby bacta tank, leaving four broken holes in the glass. 

Bacta streamed down to the floor towards Al and Dynamo like gushing lava, and they hastily left their cover, moving to Jol’s aid as Dyz and Cody swapped punches like two heavyweight Gamorreans. 

Cody attempted to reach for the rifle attached to his belt, but Dyz kicked the blaster off of its perch, sending it across the room. 

In a snarling silver fury, Dyz drew his two swords horizontally to Cody’s neck, in an attempt to find a weak spot in his armor and remove his head. 

No such weak point existed, and Cody seized the opportunity, grabbing the swords in his gloved hands and nearly bending them backwards. 

Dyz looked on in horror at the display of strength, long enough to endure a swift kick in the chest from his adversary, sending his body down hard to the wood. 

Cody fetched his blaster from the floor and barked orders to his troopers. 

“Fetch the doctor. Flood the room. Return to the hangar. _Now_!” 

One of the troopers obliged with an uppercut to Kya, knocking her clear across the room, sprawled unconscious as two others hoisted Dr. Loti to his feet and dragged him out of the room, as he pleaded in opposition. 

The last of them took to the nearby bacta tanks that hadn’t yet been punctured, and deactivated their supply. Using the butt of his broken rifle, he smashed the glass open, and bacta began flooding out into the room. He expediently followed after the others back to the hangar, closing the door just enough to let Cody out. 

Al clutched Jol’s hand as his eyes fluttered in and out of consciousness. His skin was growing pale as he gasped for air. The bacta overtook his body and she dragged him up to a nearby table. 

Dynamo came to his feet and charged Cody from behind. Leaping onto his fellow clone’s back, he attempted to rip off the impervious helmet while bacta swelled around their feet. 

He was the only one in the room who knew _how_. The emergency release latch, a small button embedded at the base of his neck. Barely the size of a bobbin, he found it after a brief struggle and jammed it with his fist. 

Decompressed air surged from Cody’s helmet as Dynamo threw it to the floor. Cody reached behind him and grasped Dynamo’s collar, catapulting the clone smuggler clean over his now helmetless head and bringing him crashing down onto a stone counter, one that Dyz used to entertain guests. 

As the bacta level in the room grew higher, Dyz was seen struggling to get to his feet, eyeing the predicament and rushing to Kya’s side in an attempt to wake her before she drowned. 

Dynamo recovered from the attack quickly, turning his attention upward to see his own aged reflection glaring down. However he was soon met with Cody’s closed fist. 

His world went black amidst the rising tides of bacta. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter taught me how bad I am at writing blaster/brawl dialogue. I'm better at larger battles and lightsaber duels than I am blaster fights. But, practice makes perfect.
> 
> For those of you getting worried by the number of characters involved right now, don't worry, it'll start to be trimmed down soon. I'm also releasing a character guide for Act 2 and 3 probably tomorrow as a reference.
> 
> This was also the most painstaking chapter to write so far. Because of its length, returning characters, introductions, action scenes, and key exposition, I had to shuffle a lot and make some cuts to scenes I thought were dragging the narrative a bit. If any chapter in this story was allowed to have a Lord of the Rings "Extended Cut," it would be this one. At least - for now.
> 
> CHARACTER GUIDE NOW MOVED TO FFN TO AVOID SCREWING WITH MY CHAPTER NUMBERS HERE, PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU'VE READ UP TO CHAPTER 12.  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13781625/13/Adaptation


	13. The Wolf & The Mechanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fix and Wolffe move against the Imperial smugglers on Manaan in the midst of a massive storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT TWO CHARACTER GUIDE HAS BEEN MOVED, IT'S NOW ON FFN TO AVOID SCREWING WITH MY CHAPTER NUMBERS HERE.  
> LINK: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13781625/13/Adaptation

**XIII**

* * * * 

Manaan -- 14 BBY 

The rain was an angry torrent. 

Lashing and whipping at the allacrete roofs of Ahto City’s east-side districts, the deluge was masked by the relative darkness of the city streets. 

The occasional yellow pulse from the storm alarm systems -- which were fixed securely upon the gantries over walkways -- illuminated the downpours in a near-ethereal manner. A way the streetlights could not. 

The thunderclouds resounded overhead, releasing a never-ending soaking upon the oceanic metropolis. It did not abate, it did not founder. It persisted. On, and on. 

And on. 

Fix stood just underneath the exterior canopy of his garage, leaning against a support column with his arms crossed. 

He watched it. Breathing gently, admiring the sheer force of nature. 

But he hadn’t seen anything, _yet_. 

During the hours of the night upon which Fix and Commander Wolffe had spent planning their operation, the Manaan Climatological Center upgraded the incoming hyperstorm to a level four. 

That’s when their plans took a turn for the worst. Chasing down an outgoing Imperial shipment in the midst of the largest storm Maanan had seen in decades, perhaps centuries. 

Funny twist of fate, Fix had mused. 

With the eye of the storm still a few hours from Ahto City, churning in the dark and empty oceans towards the equator, Wolffe believed they had a small window to nab the Imperials before they departed in the back-end of the cyclone. 

Fix was uneasy. His nerves felt jittery. Internal barometer was pushing levels unheard of. Yet his facade of calm remained, and vigilance was something he valued. 

Wolffe stepped out from the garage, with a pistol clutched in his hand. 

“How you feelin’ kid?” He asked. 

_Kid? Somebody tell Wolffe we’re the same age. This is the fourth time now._

“Fine. You?” 

“As if I’m about to finally get some answers.” 

Fix’s heterochromatic eyes met with Wolffe’s one eye for a moment, feeling weight in his reply. 

“I know the feeling,” Fix said, drawing back to his time lying under a glaring examination light on Raxus Secundus. 

Nothing had prepared him for the answers he got there. 

“We should move in the next ten minutes, while the lighter rain bands push through.” 

Fix glanced to the sky, dark as night, an almost impenetrable layer of clouds blanketing the area. Not a single ounce of the early morning sunlight could pierce the massive storm. Ahto City’s municipal lighting system provided some relief, but not much. The streets lay dim, shadows pervading the alleys and sidestreets, cloaking those who would lurk about. 

But who would lurk in a storm like this? 

Fix did not bother wondering. 

He returned to his garage, glancing at the ship hidden beneath black tarp, as if offering a farewell. 

“Remember where you left your gear?” Wolffe asked, re-emerging inside. 

“Think so.” 

“Let’s get going then.” 

Inside his personal quarters, Fix dug through a small durasteel wardrobe. Buried at the bottom, in a hidden compartment, was his plastoid trooper gear. His helmet sat locked within a footlocker near the foot of his bed, and he quickly fetched it as well. 

“Still fits almost perfectly,” Wolffe murmured as Fix locked his door. 

“That good or bad?” Fix said with a grin. 

“I’d say good, soldier.” Wolffe affixed his helmet to his head, rangefinder planted snugly at the side. His white and gray armor, a signature of the Wolfpack which he once served, was battered and worn, but appeared well lived-in. The four-circled symbol of commander was inlaid with paint on the shoulder of his armor, signifying his rank during the Clone Wars. 

“Ready?” He asked. 

“Ready.” Fix answered. 

“Remember. If asked. We’re bounty hunters, stranded here yesterday, seeking shelter and a layover during the storm until we find a ship. Nothing more. Nothing less,” Wolffe reminded. 

“Manaan does have a strict policy on bounty hunters. They may ask if we’re guild registered.” 

“They won’t have the time.” 

“Why?” 

“The storm will be too busy sweeping them off their feet. Nobody will be outside. That’s our advantage.” 

“Right.” Fix replied, as they left the garage behind and moved out into the storm. 

Fix’s rifle found its new home, latched at his belt to avoid any hostile suspicions. 

Their visor HUDs swept the soaked streets, raindrops interfering with their feedback displays, but they were able to see any atypical movement that may be ahead. 

Plodding through the rain, Wolffe looked over at his companion. 

“Brother?” 

Fix looked at him. 

“Your rifle.” 

“What about it?” Fix said. 

“How often did you use it during the war?” 

“Not much. I let my squad do the cleaning. I mostly just set up comms, repaired vehicles and did the piloting.” 

“You _were_ rifle trained on Kamino, weren’t you?” 

“I was. Barely passed though. I prefer mechanics.” 

An audible sigh emitted from Wolffe’s vocalizer. 

“They may not give you a choice this time.” 

Fix gave an offhanded nod, acknowledging him, but unsure if was willing to do what needed to be done. 

He was never like Dynamo, or Karma, or even Noble. He didn’t master the art of heavy weaponry and riflery. Fix had not learned flashy techniques to use grenades, or firing on chokepoints. He simply memorized the basics, and that’s all he had needed to survive. 

So he thought. 

They pressed on, water spilling down their plastoid, slipping between cracks, gliding over waterproof mesh, in and out of crevices to join the growing pools of water on Ahto City’s walkways. 

Soon, they realized it was just them. 

Two old troopers out in the darkness, navigating through a storm to reach their goal, the spaceport. Not even a Selkath guard dared cross their path, as none patrolled. Every home, business, cantina, all were shuttered and locked for safety. One could consider Ahto City one of the busiest spaceports in the Inner Rim, and now it was an abandoned ten-kilometer-wide platform floating defiantly against the cresting sea. 

Wolffe gripped his DC-15 apprehensively, occasionally wiping the gathering moisture from its sockets and levers. The worn rifle had seen better days, better battles. It’s heyday was long behind it. 

It took after its owner. 

Silence befell them for a few minutes, until Wolffe decided to break it. 

“Tell me, trooper.” 

“What?” Came Fix’s reply. 

“Who are you going home to each night?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Wolffe sighed. 

“Do you have anyone waiting for you when your work is done each day? A partner or something?” 

“You saw my garage, Wolffe. It’s just me there.” 

“Right. Why not? Nobody here strikes your fancy?” 

“Oh.. uh-- no, not really.” Fix thought to Juuna, but let the image slip away as quickly as it manifested. 

“So you go home to your right hand then?” 

“Hey, I never said tha--..” 

“Don’t worry kid.” Wolffe laughed under his helmet. “I’m just pulling your strings. Passin’ the time.” 

The heavier rain, which had abated briefly, creeped back into the city. 

They marched on. 

“You know. There is someone,” Fix began. “A woman, she works at the spaceport cantina. But we haven’t exactly hit it off yet.” 

“Oh yeah?” Wolffe asked. “What’s holding you up?” 

“It’s me. I think she’s been keen on me for a while. I’m just.. awkward with people.” 

“Fix.” Wolffe said. “We clones, we only have half the lifespan of most. We age too fast. That means we need to spend double the effort making that time worth it.” 

Fix nodded. He knew Wolffe was right. He just had problems admitting it. It was time for a change. 

“I hear you, sir.” 

“You had better.” Wolffe chuckled. 

“What about you?” Fix asked. “You got anyone to go home to after you’re finished.. doing what you’re doing here?” 

Wolffe took a moment. 

“Probably never gonna be done.” 

“Why?” Fix pressed. 

Wolffe stopped walking, his counterpart followed suit. His head hung slightly, the falling rain cascading around him. The droplets danced across his suit in a soaking symphony. 

Looking through the visor, he stared directly into Fix’s helmet. 

“Towards the end of the war,” Wolffe said over the spate of rain, “my men were planning how they wanted to spend their lives. Settle down with a woman, man, whoever they wanted. Retire to some Mid Rim paradise, the works.” 

Fix knew where this was going. There was no other alternative. 

“On Cato Neimoidia,” Wolffe spoke softly beneath the helmet, sniffling gently, “we received the order.” 

“Sixty-six?” Fix asked carefully. 

“That’s right. I was in a patrol squadron with General Koon. Couple of klicks behind him. My men turned like clockwork. Like a flip had been switched. I had no idea what the hell was wrong with them.” He paused, composing himself. 

“They shot the General down over one of the bridge cities.” 

Fix just watched him as he spoke, staring back into the mirror of Wolffe’s weary helmet. Seeing his own reflection, he pondered Quermia. His brothers. Orren. The tragedy was not exclusive to just them. 

It affected millions. 

“No one could’ve survived that crash,” Wolffe continued. “No one could’ve survived that crash. Not even a Jedi.” The former commander could only shake his head in dismay, recalling the events seemed pronouncedly difficult, even five years on. 

“Then,” Wolffe said, “my own men turned on me, and I was forced to flee.” 

“Where did you go?” Fix inquired. 

“Wandered the galaxy for a few months. Found a droid, of all things, to scan me for anything unusual. Scan after scan, till we found something buried in my head. _Our_ head. I truly realized then, that I had been created only for war.” 

He held out his hands, gazing over them for a few seconds. He was still grasping his DC-15, an artifact of their war, and the clone’s remorse seemed palpable. 

“I realized I was living a fake life as the good soldier only to betray one of my closest friends.” Wolffe’s tone rose a nudge. “I was angry. Wanted payback.” 

Fix nodded. One of his squadmates seemed to be in the same position when he last saw him. 

Wolffe lowered his weapon, gaze of the visor returning to the streets before him. 

“So I’ve been hunting down these wackjob Imperials ever since, fighting for the lives my brothers had stolen from them.” 

Fix could say nothing still, even after Wolffe had finished. 

“You don’t have to say anything, brother. I’m just.. glad I found you. You’re the first one since the war ended who hasn’t tried to kill me.” 

“ _Yet_ ,” Fix finally said. His humor was terribly placed, and he swore silently. 

“Funny. Never took you for a wisecrack,” Wolffe replied, hints of a lighter mood appearing in his voice. 

“You should’ve met one of my squadmates.” 

Wolffe looked up, helmet meeting the rain head-on. 

“Let’s keep moving,” he urged, as the rain began to back off yet again. 

“It’s slowing down,” Fix commented. 

“Don’t be fooled. I’m sure it’ll be back. And worse.” 

Fix only gulped. He knew it was true, as much as he wanted to be right. 

The eye of the storm was fast approaching. 

Ahto City’s spaceport was just beyond the central plaza, which sprawled itself a few hundred meters across the nexus of the government district. They entered it cautiously, rifles at their waists. 

If any guards were patrolling, it would be here. 

Yet the plaza remained devoid of life, the fountains were empty, the benches lay unused, the streets were without pedestrians. 

The drops of rain were the only movement, the growing howl of the easterly winds passing between structures was the only sound, the familiar whiff of salt water invading their lungs was the only smell. 

Nearing the spaceport, Wolffe signaled with a balled fist. Fix halted. 

The clone commander gave no verbal direction, just merely pointed to the rear entrance of the spaceport’s upper level docking bays. 

Fix nodded, and hurried in that direction as Wolffe approached the main entrance. 

The archway that led to the covered passageway between hangar bays loomed overhead, trails of leaking precipitation hurrying to the ground as miniscule waterfalls. 

He stepped through, as it wasn’t possible to get any more drenched than he already was, and began pacing slowly. 

Making his way past each bay, he shot glances in each of them to check for movement or signs of life. None were found. Only dark and empty hangars, or the occasional freighter occupying a space, dim lights overhead providing enough light to refuel, yet no one was around. 

Wolffe knew his targets were most likely on the bottom levels of the hangar, which lay exposed to the open air and swelling surge of Manaan’s seas, a few elevator stops below. 

Passing the final bays, he boarded a derelict elevator, directing it to descend to the bottom. 

_“Sub-Level Four.”_

The elevator was quick, and before Wolffe had a chance to check his rifle’s charge, the doors whisked open again. 

He ducked to the side, out of view of the sub-level passage, hoping to avoid being spotted. 

The doors shut on their own, and he activated the emergency release to keep the elevator car parked on the bottom level. 

Flipping his rifle upside-down, his eye checked the level of energy remaining. 

Barely half. 

“That’ll have to do,” he whispered. 

On the other side of the passageway, reaching the bottom of the emergency stairwell, Fix had removed the DC-15 from his belt and proceeded with care into the open passage of the fourth hangar level. 

He saw the elevator doors were both closed and assumed Wolffe had exited. 

Only four hangar bays were at the base of the spaceport, yet they were far larger and sustained heavier classes of ships and freighters. The rental fees were near-exorbitant however, as the Selkath enjoyed charging a pretty penny on whoever sought to utilize the more expansive spaces. 

Fix threw himself against a nearby wall panel between the stairwell and Hangar Bay 1. He had heard the sound of loading machinery and equipment from inside the second bay, which was adjacent. 

He overheard a few voices. 

“Yeah, once this is done, I’m taking a week retreat to Scarif. I’d say I’ve earned it.” 

“Sure, if the Commander allows it.” 

“I’d say I can persuade the Commander.” 

“Good luck. Keep loading.” 

_Wolffe can’t be in there yet, it still sounds like business_. 

Right on cue, the elevator doors whizzed open again, and out rushed Wolffe, rifle in his hands and boots tip-toeing across the permacrete floorway. 

Wolffe pinned himself against the wall on the opposite side of Bay 1. He eyed Fix from across the opening, nodding in the direction of the hangar. 

Fix knew what to do. 

They moved in unison, a perfect duo, pushing themselves from their perches and storming directly into the hangar bay. Their rifles charged up in under a second, and were primed. 

Wolffe fired first, hitting one of the Imperial agents square in the chest. 

Fix recognized him, one of the ones that heckled Wolffe earlier. He was a heavier-set man, with a square jaw and large arms. Most likely the one that left Wolffe with a bloody nose. 

He wouldn’t be bothering them anymore. 

The others spun in surprise, four in total. One had his hand to the holster of his pistol, in officer garb. 

“Ah ah ah,” Fix teased, raising his rifle. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He wasn’t good at this, but the situation demanded it, so he gave a squeeze to a more dominating demeanor. 

They pressed into the bay, closer to the small Imperial freighter that sat parked on the deck, in stasis, awaiting takeoff. On the other side of the ship, the hangar shields guarded the departure port, with Manaan’s stormy skies and white-capped waves churning just outside. 

“Who’re you pricks?” One of the agents shouted. His Coruscanti accent was notable, glottal stop marking his inflection cleanly. 

“Doesn’t matter who we are,” Wolffe said. He looked to Fix and gave an interpretative expression. 

Fix read into it just as it was planned. 

He stepped ahead of his counterpart, allowing his rifle sights to remain fixed on the agents that crowded the space ahead of the freighter’s ramp. Fix ran aboard, calling out for stragglers or stormtroopers that may be lurking inside. 

Meeting only the sound of silence, he moved to the cockpit, searching for the ship’s cargo manifest, reserved only for the Imperial officer aboard. 

That officer was currently being held hostage outside by Wolffe. 

“Hurry up Fix!” He heard the commander cry from outside the hull. 

He rummaged through a document drawer in the corridor outside the cockpit. 

_Engine manifold repair guide._

_Sensor readout replacement techniques._

_Colonies Sector Guide._

_Imperial Cargo Load 44A42D. Gozanti-14._

_This is it,_ Fix thought. If they could provide the officer’s cargo manifest to the city’s ruling council, they could prove the Imperials were up to far less good than the Selkath had originally banked on, exposing the corruption of their deal and provoking enormous public pressure to expel them. 

Fix clutched the papers in his hand, rushing to the ramp. What he returned to was not what they had planned. 

Wolffe had his hands behind his head, rifle at his feet, and was kneeling down before four stormtroopers that had just arrived from the hangar corridor. 

They had been ambushed. 

“You didn’t think we hadn’t planned for you, did you?” The officer asked Wolffe, kneeing him hard in the chest. He buckled over in pain as his helmet was forcibly removed and cast aside. 

“A clone.. pathetic,” the officer spat, turning back to his agents. 

Fix ducked back into the ship. One of the agents turned on his heels, hearing a noise. 

“He’s still in there sir,” the agent said to the officer. 

“We can smoke him out. Hold here. No force. He could burn the documents.” 

The officer approached the ramp, pistol removed from its holster. 

He cleared his throat and began the charade. 

“Ahem. _Trooper_!” 

Fix said nothing, back to the bulkhead of the ship’s corridor, listening. The papers dangled at his waist, barely hanging from a hand. 

“You make any moves in that ship, touch _anything_ , and your friend here, gets a blaster to the head.” 

“How do I know you won’t do that anyway?” Fix shouted back. 

“You hand over those papers, you both get to walk out of here. You don’t? The Selkath will spend the next week mopping _your remains_ off their deck.” 

Fix blinked, not mustering a reply just yet. 

He returned to the cockpit, eyeing an active layout of the ship and its storage capabilities. In the main storage bay, on the starboard side, he noticed a large quantity of volatile material. The room’s designated warning light was lit for safe handling. 

Making his move, Fix stopped by the mechanical room and scoured the cramped space for a toolbox. Finding a suitable one, he took the long way around the ship to the storage bay. 

Fourteen barrels marked in red sat perfectly arranged on the floor in the center of the room. Boxes of munitions, weapons, and kolto barrels were organized around them, neatly stacked and in a safe distance from the barrels. 

Fix squinted, reading the script on the barrels. Realizing what was inside, his eyes widened. 

Wolffe winced in pain as another agent let a wild punch off into his cheekbone. His commander’s helmet was still rolling across the hangar deck, coming to rest near the exit. 

The agent cracked his knuckles as he prepared for another blow. He was familiar with Wolffe, having accompanied one of the other agents -- the heavy-set man -- to beat him outside of the spaceport cantina. 

“I’m trying my best to not enjoy this, but it’s hard, sir.” The agent asserted to his officer. 

“Come now, Falon. Don’t muddy him up too much. He could be valuable,” the superior replied. 

“Valuable to who?” Falon retorted. “He’s just a washed up old artifact. Nobody needs them anymore.” 

Wolffe sneered under his breath, keeping his posture steady against the deck and his eyes fixated on the ramp of the freighter. 

Inside the ship, a banging noise was heard. The officer stepped onto the ramp. 

“You have two minutes to come out, or your companion is _dead_.” 

Fix barely heard the threat, he was hunched over on the floor of the storage bay, an open munitions box beside him. Tinkering with a small, spherical object, he added the final touch to his grand design and smirked. His eyes found the red barrels in front of him, now clearly in readable range. 

**Rhydonium. Highly explosive. Handle with caution**. 

_Time to go to Plan B_. 

“You have _one minute_!” The officer howled. 

Fix grabbed the cargo manifest and returned towards the loading ramp. 

Mentally, he was counting down from two and a half minutes. One-hundred and fifty seconds. 

_One-hundred fifty._

Fix raised his hands, taking a few slow-paced steps down the ramp as the officer turned to greet him, pistol raised. 

“Nice to see you decided to cooperate.” 

_One-hundred thirty_. 

“Not exactly.” 

The officer scowled in confusion, snatching the manifest from his hand. 

“Falon. Take this, keep it safe. This could be a death sentence if the Selkath discover what we’re doing with their hospitality.” 

“Thought you made a deal with the city council?” Falon snorted, taking the manifest and shoving it into a side pocket. 

_One-hundred_. 

“For the hangar space and kolto reserves.. not the _flammables_.” 

Falon didn’t reply, as the officer handed Fix over to him. 

Fix realized now was as good a time as ever to put his new plan to action. 

“Release us!” He mockingly begged. 

_Eighty_. 

“Ah yes. The deal we made. So you expect me to honor it now?” The officer turned back to them, examining his pistol in a show of superiority, as the other agents began to hoist the rest of the cargo onboard. 

“Do whatever you want, just don’t turn us over to the city authority. I have a price on my head. _Please_ ,” Fix whined. 

_Sixty seconds_. 

Wolffe looked to him incredulously, and was met only with an offhanded wink by Fix. 

“The Ahto City Authority you say? The security forces?” 

“Yes. Please don’t,” Fix was on the verge of tears. Wolffe kept his head hung, hiding his smile. He knew Fix wouldn’t have surrendered without something up his sleeve. The clone seemed far too capable with his hands. 

“Falon. Take them out to the corridor. I’ll have a call with the security forces.” 

“ _NO!_ ” Fix pleaded. “Anything but that, _please!_ ” 

_Thirty seconds_. 

_I think I’m catching on,_ Wolffe thought. _Kid’s playing this pretty well. Taking the bounty hunter shtick literally. But what did he do in the ship?_

The officer remained silent as he waved off Falon, who obliged to do his superior’s bidding. Grabbing Fix by the collar, he dragged him towards the hangar entrance. A stormtrooper hauled Wolffe behind them. 

_Ten_. 

_Nine_. 

Falon stood tall, smirking gleefully down on the two clones as his shadow crept over them. 

_Eight._

_Seven._

_Six._

“ _Falon!_ ” The officer bellowed, as two stormtroopers stumbled down the ramp in a hurry. “ _Call for reinforcements!_ ” 

_Five_. 

Falon turned in confusion, eyes narrowing at the unfolding clamor. 

_Four_. 

“Why?” He said. “We’re due for takeoff in forty minutes.” 

_Three_. 

“ _The containment alarm! Something’s leaking!”_

_Two_. 

Falon stepped out into the corridor, searching for a transmitter console to the surface of the city. 

Fix pounced on the moment, kicking upwards at his other captor, nearly shattering the stormtrooper’s jaw, before turning to Wolffe. 

“Now Wolffe!” The pair ducked against the bulkhead of the hangar, beside the exit, shielding their heads under the plastoid of their armor. 

_One_. 

The hangar erupted into a fireball. A cacophonous roar broke the silence, as the starboard hull of the Imperial freighter burst into a spectacular explosion and collapsed on itself. 

Two more stormtroopers rushed out from the debris, completely engulfed in flames. 

Fire suppression alarms blared, sparking interior sprinklers to douse the burning ship, but they were of no use against a rhydonium-fueled fire. 

The hangar bay’s overhead lighting systems flickered, on, off, and back on again. Unsure of what they were to do as the electrical systems embedded into the ceiling were damaged. 

Wolffe, ears ringing and slightly dizzy, could barely stand to his feet, much less hear the agony of two burning stormtroopers just a few meters away. 

His eyeline drifted past the wreckage of the freighter, to the hangar bay shields. 

They were down. Presumably disabled in the explosion. 

A gust of wind from outside the hangar tore past the ship’s scorching carcass, sending the smell of charred metal and burning flesh beneath Wolffe’s nostrils. The storm was reaching its peak, and just as the overhead lights blinked out in the hangar, an unbound crack of lightning ripped across the clouded sky. 

One could not tell if it was dawn or dusk, noon or midnight. The sky was so heavily darkened by the stratus cloud deck, it was impossible to forecast anything other than the hyperstorm itself. 

Waves battered the superstructure of the city’s spaceport, sending sprays of water from the cresting tides into the bay. The water assisted in dousing some of the ship’s flames, but much of it was still far too hot to handle. 

Only the flames from the fire and the occasional bolt of lightning illuminated the carnage in the hangar bay, and Wolffe helped Fix to his feet as another strike screeched across the sky, followed abruptly by the rumbling growl of thunder. 

The sprinklers added another layer of moisture to the two clones, already soaked from the storm above. 

Fix looked to Wolffe, whose face was artificially lit by the bright embers licking the ceiling. 

“That was some quick thinking kid,” Wolffe said, clapping Fix on the shoulder in pride. 

Fix sighed. 

“We’re the same age, Wolffe.” 

“Right, right. Sorry, my fault,” Wolffe raised his hands in admittance, grinning. “Mistakes are made.” 

“The manifest,” Fix reminded. “We need it.” 

“Wait, didn’t he give it to--..” 

Wolffe was struck from behind, driven to the floor by a powerful blow. 

“ _Looking for this_?” Falon had re-appeared, and waved the manifest in front of Fix as the rain from the sprinkler system threatened to melt the paper into unreadable fibers. 

Fix dove headfirst into the agent, tackling him to the floor. The papers fell out of Falon’s hand as he tried to defend himself. Fix bludgeoned Falon’s nose with his knuckles, resulting in an echoing _crack_. The agent yelped in pain, as Wolffe recovered behind them. 

“ _Wolffe_! _Get the manifest_!” Fix stammered between punches, motioning to the waterlogged papers that lay unclaimed on the deck. 

Falon kneed Fix in the gut, pushing him off. Getting to his feet, he brought a roundhouse kick up from the floor that connected with Fix’s head, sending him flailing against the wall, clutching his jawbone in affliction. 

Wolffe grabbed the papers, looked to help his companion, and that’s when he heard it. 

Peering over his shoulder, past the corpses of the stormtroopers and out into the expanse of Manaan’s deep oceans, he saw nothing but darkness. 

It was only when the lightning flashed within the troposphere, is when he saw its shadow. Rising, looming, and threatening to envelop anything in its path. 

Wolffe saw a monster of nature. A terror of the planetary ocean. Rising hundreds of meters from the tops of the even the most violent breakers, came what appeared to be a mountain of a rogue wave. 

A _nazaki_ , as denoted in the Selkatha language, the gargantuan waves that accompanied the cores of hyperstorms were infamous for their ludicrous size, power, and ability to restructure Ahto City as they see fit. 

The eye of the hyperstorm flashed wildly throughout the swirling clouds as the wave pushed towards the city, and the hairs on Wolffe’s arm stood at attention, an ominous horror about to unfold. 

“ _FIX!_ ” He bellowed. Scrambling to get out of the hangar, he interrupted the fight between the two men, grabbing Falon by the hair and wrenching him to the ground in an adrenaline-boosted rush, swiftly kicking him in the face. 

He pointed to the impending sea swell, taller than a Coruscant supertower. The unruly force of nature was primed to sweep atop the buoyant city, washing over the metropolis like a holy flood, ushered in by the transcendent, hyperkinetic gales that boosted in the past hour by the storm’s inner core. 

Fix stared wide-eyed at the onslaught of water, as it began to topple over the east-side district, barely visible in the distance against the flashes of lightning. 

His home. 

The city, self-preservant on its buoyancy system, began to rise up against the cresting wave to maintain its balance, as water was sucked from beneath it to add fuel to the kilometers-high ocean. 

The fire-infested hulk of the Imperial freighter slid across the deck, metal shrieking as it grinded against the permacrete, careening towards the clones. 

“Out! Now!” Wolffe urged, pushing Fix out into the corridor as felt the pressure from the city’s tilt. 

Falon, wiping water from his eyes, stood to his feet, only to be jolted back down by the shifting axis of Ahto City’s floatation dampeners. 

By the time he was able to regain his footing, he was met with only the hull of a fiery freighter, pinning him against the hangar bay wall. 

“There’s no hangar shield! It’ll flood the spaceport!” Wolffe cried. 

Still clutching the cargo manifest, the two clones pushed against the weight of the city’s shifting gravity as they attempted to crawl up the tilting hangar passage towards the elevator. 

Wolffe, out of the corner of his eye, noticed their two helmets piled up against an outcropping in the hallway, and he snagged them as they trudged, tossing Fix his helmet before securing his own on his head. 

“Just _get to the elevator_! We can make it in there!” 

The sprinkler system’s rapid outpouring of water made the clones’ visor HUDs scattered and distorted with individual droplets, but nevertheless they sought the only destination in sight, just at the end of the passageway. 

“Almost there..” Fix muttered, holding onto another outcropping as the passed hangar bays two and four. 

The rogue wave groaned over the sound of the rain and thunder like an ancient hymn, barely a klick from the spaceport as it toppled over district after district. It flooded streets, alleys, anything unsecured that remained outside of Ahto City’s watertight structures. 

One stormtrooper, barely alive from his injuries in the hangar bay, awoke from unconsciousness to see nothing but a black wall of water before him. 

Fix reached the edge of the elevator car first, grabbing the edge of the open door and pulling himself inside. Wolffe followed suit moments later, and Fix smashed the unlock controls, effectively sealing the door and sending them towards the surface. 

“Lock it!” Wolffe said hurriedly, and Fix engaged the elevator lock system, suspending it mid-tube at the second hangar level as the wave breached the spaceport below and rose high over the government district just above them. Water rushed throughout every crevice of Ahto City, as concerned civilians huddled in the corners of their homes, lights flickered, and power systems suffered cascading failures. The ten-kilometer-wide city was inundated with one wave, the size of a mountain on Mygeeto, overlapping the shining white jewel of Manaan. 

The elevator car in the hangar bay buckled and shuddered violently as the power of the water surged through the elevator tube and structural frame, but they were safely sealed within. 

“Thanks,” Wolffe whispered, as the jostling of the elevator car slowly began to cease. He could barely catch his breath, and he slipped the helmet off of his head to wipe the moisture from his face. 

“For what?” Fix said. 

“If you hadn’t done what you did, we’d probably both be blaster fodder on that hangar deck.” 

A smile tugged on Fix’s mouth. 

“I may have almost failed basic riflery, but I know a thing or two about crafting a timed explosive.” 

“You did good, brother.” Wolffe nodded. “Best part about it, you never had to fire a shot.” 

“Sometimes it’s easier that way.” 

Despite that, Fix still knew that he had caused the death of six -- maybe more -- Imperial troops. While ultimately it was to save Wolffe’s life, it was not something he took lightly. Those troops were, after all, just _following orders_. 

Wolffe took note of Fix’s discomfort, and changed the topic. 

“How long do you think we should hold up here?” Wolffe said, as the light inside the car dimmed. 

“Give it another hour or two for the core to pass by, let the city recover from the wave, then we’ll push up.” 

“You think anyone will be trying to use this elevator?” Wolffe quipped. 

“I doubt it. There’s another just in case, but I don’t think _anyone_ will be venturing out anytime soon.” 

Wolffe leaned back against the elevator car, head resting on the durasteel. 

“You’re a good man, Fix,” he said. 

“As are you, brother.” 

They sat alone, until the elevator lights went completely dark -- save for the faint pulse of the emergency light -- and the creaking of water trailing through the utility piping dulled their senses. 

Minutes became hours. 

Then, with a jerk of the car, they began to rise. Slowly. 

Wolffe woke Fix from his short slumber. 

“Fix. We’re rising.” 

Fix blinked. “Did you unlock the controls?” 

“No.” 

They looked to each other, before upwards, lingering in silence as the levels passed. 

Until their ascent came to a halt. 

“ _Surface level_.” 

The doors opened, and the light nearly blinded the two. Their visor sensors became overloaded while adjusting to the change in scenery. 

Sunshine warmed Ahto City. The clouds were breaking, and the streets were littered with water, clusters of barnacles, dead aquatic life, and broken infrastructure. 

Hanging from the elevator door jamb, were stringing green kelp stems, waving in the storm’s leftover breezes. 

The clones stood to their feet, and were met with the sound of charging blasters. 

“Halt.” 

A group of four Selkath appeared from around the corner, security officers. Two of which had interviewed Fix the day prior, and seemed pleased with their catch. Another held the key to the elevator controls in his hand. 

_Now what_ , Fix thought. 

“Hands where we can see them,” one of the Selkath ordered. 

“What’s this all about?” Wolffe demanded. 

“Quiet, you.” 

Neither of them spoke, as a fifth Selkath appeared with two pairs of stun cuffs. 

“By order of the Manaan Ruling Council. You’re both under arrest.” 

Fix looked down to the street in disappointment as the cold steel of the cuffs locked around his wrists. Wolffe nudged him with his shoulder, smirking. 

“Do you have a _Plan C_?” 


	14. Ecumenopolis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Coruscant, Chuckles infiltrates an Imperial Archives tower.

**XIV**

**** 

Coruscant -- 14 BBY 

On a typical day at business hour, Coruscant’s top-level streets and marketplaces were swimming with throngs of pedestrians, staffers, engineers, Imperial Guards, anyone imaginable. 

Today was no different. 

Not a fan of crowds, Chuckles kept his head down as he waded through the sea of life, the mass swarms of citizens ebbing and flowing around him like well-oriented tides, driven by a moon above. 

Coruscant may have had four moons, but it’s seas had been dried up millennia prior to make way for the growing urbanization that swiftly conquered the silicate surface of the capital world. Such metaphorical tides would no longer exist. 

The waning sunlight was radiating across Galactic City, shimmering from the reflective glass of the supertowers that dominated Level 5127, and drawing thousands of shadows from each and every pedestrian that passed through the urban canyons. 

A few passersby took keen eye to Chuckles’ old uniform, but none spoke up. The regular guard patrols had yet to be seen, but given the square footage required to patrol, he hoped he would end up lucky. 

Less than a klick ahead, in the center of the megablock, was an Imperial Archive tower. One of fourteen structures across the planet that allowed access to Imperial records to anyone with clearance, this was the closest to Chuckles’ for the time being. 

The symmetrical tower at the center of the sprawling archival complex spiraled into the sky, glistening in the golden hour rays. 

Chuckles’ eyes found it for a brief moment, taking in the monotonous, rather forward Imperial architecture, perhaps designed to intimidate rather than to inspire. 

The steps to the main entrance were almost more daunting than the crowds. Ignoring his agoraphobia, the clone took the sweeping facade two steps at a time, ascending to the gaping entranceway that led deep into the complex itself, while a few passing Imperial officers buzzing about between the columns of the exterior colonnade. 

Once inside, he was greeted at the entry desk, coupled together with a security terminal. Two officers stood watch at the desk, while two urban stormtroopers were stationed on the other side of the weapons detector. 

“No weapons, trooper,” one of the desk officers called. 

“I-I have none..” Chuckles stammered, while the officers looked on curiously. 

“You got clearance to be here?” One asked. “Your armor is a bit.. outdated.” 

“Uh, yeah..” Chuckles mumbled. “My chain code should operate the terminal, right? I’m not allowed to carry clearance identification.” 

The guards looked to each other, then tossed a passing glance back to the stormtroopers, who remained motionless. 

“Scan it in then,” an officer said. She was young, barely out of primary school. Imperial jobs must be easy to come by for the youth. 

Chuckles activated the chain code on his wrist, waving it through the scanner portal on the desk. Seconds passed, the portal was running his code, presumably through years of backlogged data from the war. 

After what felt like ten minutes -- yet was only probably ten seconds -- the green light flashed. 

“You’re in, trooper,” she said with a nod. 

“Hold up,” the other officer said. He was at least twice his counterpart’s age. “Where’d you say you were working?” 

“Off the books, Imperial installation on Mimban. Been rooting out some insurgent cells, we clones are useful in that sector.” 

“Right..” the officer began. “Well, we’re closing up in about forty minutes, so you might wanna hurry it up, wherever you’re headed” 

“Will do,” Chuckles replied. “Thanks.” 

He passed through the weapons detector, arms held perpendicular to his frame, and the scanner found nothing of threat. 

Pacing past the stormtroopers hesitantly, they paused their hushed conversation to watch him, as if disgusted by his outdated armor. The clone shrugged off his successors’ gazes, leaving the foyer behind. 

Chuckles continued on to the turbolift, seeking the quietest floor in the building, hoping they were all identical in layout. 

Disappearing swiftly into the lift car, the older officer beckoned over the stormtroopers. 

“Get your men and follow that one.” 

* * * * 

“ _Level Forty_.” 

Rising sixty stories from Level 5127 into the sky, the archival towers that dotted Coruscant’s landscape were far from inconspicuous. The Emperor himself had decreed that they be built as tall and imposing as possible, seen from kilometers around and nearly every megablock. 

Chuckles had hoped that the midsection of the glass and ferrocrete tower was a less-trafficked portion of the structure. 

He bet correctly. 

Emerging from the turbolift, he looked around. Aisles of databanks, file archives and even a few books were arranged neatly on all four sides of the spire, with the four main turbolifts positioned directly in the middle. 

Durable glass windows on all sides allowed for sweeping views of the planet’s cityscape, brought to life in a beige-tinged twilight that was ushering in yet another sparkling clear evening. 

The skylanes cut overhead of the megablocks and streetscapes, immaculately arranged in squared formations to avoid congested gridlock, while in the distance, the Imperial Senate building sat in all of its symbolic glory. Yet the real power lay just beyond it, within the old Jedi Temple. 

Chuckles’ eyes lingered on the temple, barely a shadow on the horizon. He knew it had become the Imperial Palace, but nothing further. 

The three years of war still left nearly fresh imprints in his memory. Reporting to General Koon or General Kara every Monday at the assembly courts at the base of the temple, military reports, training and security exercises, even the rare debriefing held in the sub-level halls. 

He knew the structure well. 

But it no longer knew him. 

Returning to the task at hand, he sat himself at the nearest desk terminal, which hosted the Empire’s military logo on the screen. 

Only one other sat on the floor with him, across the room at a table, browsing pages of a dusty manuscript. It appeared to be an Imperial agent of sorts, but he hadn’t noticed Chuckles entering. 

Chuckles wanted to keep it that way. 

His chain code scanned at the terminal, and, like in the entry foyer, took a few moments to process his request. 

“ _Code outdated. Facial scan required_.” 

“Blast it all,” Chuckles spoke under his breath.  
At this point, he just wanted to go home. 

_It wasn’t worth it._

_You’ll be caught and court-martialed._

_Just go get some stims and shots. So much easier than this._

_Why bother? The answers won’t help you._

He pushed the thoughts away. Long had they dwelled in his mind. For years -- in fact. The invasive mental images that pervaded his very waking conscience continued to undermine him. Especially now, when he decided to finally break from the habit of drinking to excess and partying with women whose names he forgot the next morning. 

In his mind, he brushed it all away, because this was purposeful. 

He was doing this for Tandem. 

_Tandem would want these answers. He deserves them as much as I do,_ Chuckles thought, removing his helmet as he looked around the fortieth floor, hesitance on his face. 

The officer across the floor was still buried in his tome, even as the internal system clock struck six-thirty. 

_Thirty minutes left, gotta make this quick_. 

As the scan began sweeping his face, he tried not to move his eyes, but was obligated to when he saw the turbolift soar above his level, carrying a car of stormtroopers. 

_Dammit. Should probably make this_ extra _quick_. 

Scanning was taking too long. His frustration rose, as did another turbolift car of stormtroopers, one of the men aboard pointed to his level as they ascended the pinnacle. 

“ _Scanning complete. Welcome._ ” 

_It’s about time_. 

Chuckles began at the landing page, which contained the main directory for planetary matters. 

_Coruscant Home Defense._

_Coruscant Public Works & Utilities. _

_Galactic City Tibanna Reserves._

_Water Infiltration, Megablocks 1-1000_

_Water Infiltration, Megablocks 1001-10000._

The first few folders were relegated to internal Coruscant data and relevant archival information. He neglected it and moved to the next screen. The new page of archives was focused more on the previous war, which was exactly his focus. 

_Flight Data Logs - Early War._

_Flight Data Logs - Late War._

_Clone Wars Vehicle Data Logs._

_Recycling Facilities - Republic Fleet._

_Recycling Facilities - Republic Military._

_Clone Wars Crime Logs - 3 BFE - 0 BFE_. 

Clicking on the last folder on the screen, Chuckles was redirected to the Imperial Judicial System’s indictment logs. 

_Enter Date_. 

He recalled it was five years prior that the order was issued. He decided to start there. 

_0 AFE._ After the Formation of the Empire. The Imperial calendar. 

_14,438,400 records found_. 

He swore. That would take too long. His eyes wandered, and found a detailed search option. Typing in his query, he silently crossed his fingers. 

_Orren Kara._

The database parsed the name into several sub-databases, taking a few seconds to bring a clear result. 

Computer screen coming to life, Chuckles examined what was presented. 

There he was. 

His former General, or at least, a mockup render of him, most likely extracted from the old Jedi Temple Archives. 

_Data: Restricted Access - Clearance Required._

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Across the room, the Imperial officer was still embedded in his book. In the midst of reading, he was struck from behind, collapsing to the floor. 

“Sorry about this pal,” Chuckles muttered, slipping down and swiping the keycard that dangled from the man’s belt. 

“Let’s try this again before he wakes up.” 

The officer’s code was entered, and Chuckles bit his lip in apprehension as he waited for the system to accept it. It hummed for a moment, inputting the code into a near-endless virtual database of key combinations. 

_Clearance Accepted_. 

The screen wiped to a new layout, while Orren’s face and figure remained situated on the left, a new plethora of information presented itself before the inquiring eyes. 

_STATUS: Unknown - Last Sighting: Quermia._

_CHARGE: Sedition, Treason, Conspiracy._

Chuckles leaned back in the chair, scratching his head as the falling sun trickled between his fingers onto the screen. 

_Treason? He never really left our side other than going to meetings at the Temple_. _Something’s off_. 

He typed in another name, hoping to find more information. 

_Plo Koon._

_STATUS: Executed - Cato Neimoidia._

_CHARGE: Sedition, Treason, Conspiracy._

Another name. 

_Obi-Wan Kenobi._

_STATUS: Unknown - Last Sighting: Mustafar._

_CHARGE: Sedition, Treason, Conspiracy, Attempted Murder, Kidnapping._

_Kidnapping? What were the Jedi doing? If this is even accurate_ , Chuckles wondered. 

The turbolifts were quiet when he glanced over, but the time on his chronometer read six-forty. He only had a handful of minutes left. 

Chuckles tried a fourth name. 

_Anakin Skywalker_. 

_No records found._

He frantically searched more names in the time he had left, using his existing knowledge of the Jedi Generals from the war. All of the results were the same. 

_Mace Windu. Executed - Coruscant._

_Kit Fisto. Executed - Coruscant._

_Shaak Ti. Executed - Coruscant._

_Ki-Adi Mundi. Executed - Mygeeto._

_Aayla Secura. Executed - Felucia._

_Stass Allie. Executed - Saleucami._

_Luminara Unduli. Executed - Stygeon Prime._

_Yoda. Unknown - Last Sighting: Coruscant._

Attached to Yoda’s file was a HoloNet recording of the petite green Jedi, flinging himself around the Imperial Senate chamber, hurling Senate pods in a frenzied destruction at an off-screen target. Part of the footage appeared to be stitched together, which he noticed. 

_All living or unknown individuals not apprehended are to be considered supremely dangerous and openly hostile. Approach and engage with extreme caution._

All of the charges were the same, sedition, treason, conspiracy. Mace Windu and Kit Fisto had _high_ treason and attempted assassination attached to their files, but the rest remained virtually identical. 

Chuckles returned to the search bar for a final name. 

_Ahsoka Tano. Executed - Moon LD-624, Mid Rim. Sedition, Treason, Conspiracy, Sabotage._

All of the Jedi except General Skywalker were convicted? Chuckles was befuddled, his mind was racing. He wasn’t sure what to believe, the words of Orren himself, or the government that attempted to turn him and his brothers into slave weapons. 

This was too much. He needed more time, more data to process the information. 

Senator Organa told them on Dantooine that the Empire framed the Jedi and used the clones to turn on them as part of some manipulation on the part of higher powers. He never said who though. 

_Was Senator Organa lying?_ He mused. _No, Bail has always been a friend of the clones, a good man. He couldn’t. The Empire really did this?_ _Was it the hooded man from before? The one who gave us Order 66?_

Could it have been the Emperor himself? It didn’t seem right, the Emperor didn’t wear a hood during HoloNet broadcasts, his voice was too stately, but it doesn’t mean he couldn’t alter his appearance. 

Yet how probable was it that it _was_ him? Chuckles looked to the horizon, finding the spire of the Imperial Palace -- the home of the Emperor himself -- and he felt a strange presence around him, as if he was being watched. 

It was then, he decided, that he did not want to think further on it. 

His eye caught the passing of another turbolift, albeit slower than the last two. A pair of stormtroopers were onboard, and stared at him in entirety as they rose higher. 

“Shit,” he said. It was time to go. 

He should’ve just stuck to wasting away in the underworld, high on glitterstims and drunk on good hearty Corellian whiskey. 

But the lingering presence of Tandem, and the words of the Jedi still stung in his conscience. 

Not even his own inklings of depression could beat back the haunting image of his best friend. The retribution he sought was -- for the most part -- to avenge him. 

The trooper helmet found his head again, and he logged out of the terminal. Tossing the keycard onto the slumped body of the officer, he turned to the turbolift. 

He found one waiting for him however, with two stormtroopers emerging onto the floor on the opposite side. Their armor was defined by a potent red stripe that ran down the plastoid from head to foot on either side. 

Urban pacification troopers. The main guards in Coruscant’s upper levels. Mass recruited and dropped onto the streets of Galactic City without much formal training, they lagged slightly behind their more militaristic counterparts, who were oppressing planetary systems by the week. 

In immediate panic, Chuckles hoisted the officer by the legs and dragged him behind a long shelf of datacrons and books. The stormtroopers seemingly patrolled the floor inconspicuously, but beneath their visors, their eyes were trained exclusively on the clone. 

Chuckles paced rather leisurely down the aisle, attempting to avoid any direct confrontations or raised tensions, but he kept his view focused on the troopers through the slits in the shelves, watching their movements on the opposite side. 

Another turbolift slowed to a halt at the center tube. As the doors whisked open, two more troopers joined the party. 

None of them carried a blaster, as it was forbidden due to the sensitive nature of the building’s contents, but nevertheless, electrobatons were equipped at their waists, and the newer plastoid of the Imperial’s mass production lines looked tougher than Chuckles’ own. 

His steps were silent, carrying him to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the floor’s perimeter. 

The first two troopers were flanking him on either side, and he kept his head down as he veered right, towards one of them. 

“Hey, you! Stop right there.” 

Chuckles obeyed, head still tilted down. 

“Someone on this floor was accessing classified data. Was it you?” 

“No.” 

“Then explain this,” the other trooper called from behind, and he pointed to the limp body of the officer down the aisle. 

Chuckles stood his ground in silence. 

“Alright, I’ve had enough, helmet off. Let’s see some identification.” 

Plan B. 

Obliging, he unlocked his helmet, compressed air jetting from the base of his neck. 

Head still angled down, Chuckles took his helmet into his hands and shot it forward, striking the trooper in the head, who shrunk to the floor with a groan. 

Footsteps echoing behind him, Chuckles instinctively ducked as a wild swing from the other trooper’s arm came to visit. 

Chuckles swept his leg forward and tripped the assailant, sending him toppling down onto the first. 

The helmet went back on, locking in its rightful place. 

At this point, he had garnered an audience. The other two pacification troopers took notice and were approaching, while the final two of the security force -- in the third turbolift car -- arrived. 

Electrobatons activated, they engaged him, arcs of electricity flashing wildly. 

He ducked right to avoid the first lunge and drew up an uppercut before the second could swing. Taking the stunned trooper in a chokehold, he turned back to face the other. 

“Let me walk, or he’s toast.” 

“You’re outnumbered. Let him go.” 

Chuckles reached to the baton in his captive’s hand. Activating it’s high-power mode, he pushed one unexpectedly into the other and they collapsed in a storm of electricity. 

The first two troopers recovered off in the corner, standing to their feet. Chuckles paid no notice as he turned to greet the two new arrivals. 

“Fashionably late?” He shrugged. The violence had brought out part of him he forgot he had missed. He remembered how much he enjoyed the thrill of combat. The _fun of it_. 

Of course, it’s how he earned his name. 

Chuckles relished in the combat, something he took pride in mastering over thirteen years of both training and battlefield experience. While he had grown a tad rusty in the five years of rapid aging post-war, his quips were ageless, and the stormtroopers were easy fodder for resurrecting old habits. 

The two arrivals stood in defense, not making the same mistake of their predecessors. They paced around him in a semicircle, waiting for an opening in Chuckles’ defense. 

Thinking he found one, one of them charged forward, baton raised. Chuckles jabbed his own baton forward into the attacker’s chest, sparking him. His leg raised to easily repel the other, who tried to take an opportunity for himself. 

From behind, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and he lost his balance. 

One of the original troopers had snuck up on him. 

Capitulating down to one knee, he opted to drop his entire weight to the floor like a puddle of water as the incoming third trooper flailed his baton, which barely missed Chuckles’ head and careened into the other two. 

_Stormtroopers_. He thought, standing in pain. _Such unrefined training_. 

The final trooper, recovering from his blow courtesy of Chuckles’ helmet, tightened his grip on his electrobaton, picking up another from a fallen comrade. 

Chuckles moved quickly to the turbolift, before two batons struck him in the ribs. He fell, grasping his torso in wicked pain. 

“You think you’re just gonna walk away like this?” The trooper hissed, removing his helmet to reveal a bloody chin. 

“Well.. yeah.. that was the plan,” Chuckles quipped between gasping breaths. 

The man wasn’t a clone, but he was fairly young. Chuckles guessed under thirty. 

“Get up, I’m taking you with me.” 

“Why don’t we settle this like men?” 

“ _What_?” 

“You man enough, trooper?” Chuckles asked, smirking as he took to his feet. “Let’s put the batons down, duke it out like men.” 

The stormtrooper looked confused. 

“What’s the matter? Don’t have the balls?” 

Now clearly frustrated, the trooper dropped his batons. Chuckles just smiled. 

_Perfect_. 

Sizing each other up, they took their stances. 

Swinging savagely in anger, the trooper made the first move. Chuckles backpedaled toward the turbolift, parrying the attempted blows away with just his arms, throwing the occasional punch in the mix, before diving forward to tackle his opponent. 

Chuckles felt a tearing in his shoulders, a ripping in his back, he ached from the exertion, out of typical shape compared to his former regimen, and he could _feel it_. 

But he shrugged it off, pushing the pain to the side for the time being, as this was _not_ the place he needed to falter and be detained. 

The trooper put up a weak defense against a flurry of blows from the clone, his training was too inadequate, and the pain was becoming overbearing, not even worth defending. 

Wearing him down enough, Chuckles saw the opening, the defense had been broken in exhaustion and from his high ground advantage, he sought to put an end to the fight. 

A quick _one, two_ punch to the nose and chin left him sprawled unconscious, his last image being the visor of a clone trooper. 

Stumbling up, he looked around. A few troopers rolled around the glossy floor in pain, none stood to face him, none sought to challenge him. 

He gripped his shoulder, wincing, and slinked into a vacant turbolift car, requesting a descent. 

The car fell through the tube as the final slivers of sunlight disappeared below the horizon. As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain flooded through his body, sending shivers down his spine. He didn’t want to walk, let alone breathe. 

Those electrobatons were a _bitch_. 

Swallowing both his saliva and his pain, he limped out of the elevator, into the main atrium. 

The lights were dim, barely enough to cover the officer’s at the main desk, who appeared to be all that remained in the building. 

Noticing his arrival, they looked to each other, stunned. Perhaps Chuckles wasn’t expected so soon. 

“Surprised to see me?” Chuckles teased, ignoring the pain that shot through his lungs. 

Neither officer spoke. One reached under the desk for the panic button, but it was too late. 

“I suggest you invest in new security,” he said. He struggled through the security scanner and proceeded to the door. 

As the clock struck seven -- Coruscant time -- Chuckles took his first breath of outside air. 

He knew he needed to return to the turbolift station as soon as he could, as nightfall brought increased street patrols, and a further risk to him, especially on the surface. 

While the bleeding remnants of twilight melded into a starry dusk, Chuckles disappeared into the crowds that swelled in the trading courts near the Archives Tower. The lights and sirens of Imperial police speeders whizzed overhead towards the glass pinnacle, which grew further distant as the clone walked off. 

Beneath the visor, he only looked forward. 

He got the answers he needed, for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little shorter, but surprisingly took me a bit longer to write than most, as I struggle at writing fistfights and brawls. We're getting closer to the end of Act Two, meaning there will only be Act Three remaining. Only a couple of these individual plot threads left. 
> 
> I also realized that I shot myself in the foot when I first posted the story. I posted the first three chapters all at once, which I realized may have hurt my views, as some may not click on a story that looks to be 3 chapters in already with 0 views, haha. Oh well!


	15. Sapphire Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Thyferra, plans are made to depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter ready just a few hours after posting the last one, but to avoid overwhelming anyone, I held off on posting it. The next chapter is also ready! It may go up tomorrow or Wednesday.

**XV**

* * * * 

Thyferra -- 14 BBY 

The hulking gray mass of a Venator Star Destroyer was parked in the lower atmosphere, basked in the enveloping fog of Thyferra’s cloud deck. 

On the command bridge, eyes locked on the craggy, humid horizon, the captain stood. His black Imperial regalia dressed him from head to toe, cap to boot. 

His gaze never left the transparisteel that reinforced the bridge’s wide viewport. Far below the clouds, lingered the lofty compound of Dyz Exum. 

He stood without even the slightest twitch, sharp contrast to the crew that buzzed on either side of the elevated walkway. 

“Captain.” 

The captain felt his eyes shut, and he sighed. Sometimes, he longed for a different life. 

“Yes?” 

“The Moff has returned.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

Eyes opening gradually, he turned on his heels, treading forcefully down the bridge to the turbolifts on the far side. 

“Colonel Daros. You have the com.” 

“Yes sir,” a voice called from across the room. He stepped to the viewport. “I have the com.” 

The captain entered the turbolift and within a second he was gone. 

Descending far below, he watched the red locator lights trickle down to the baseline. He wanted a normal military career, not this. The last year of running around the galaxy, beneath the nose of every superior imaginable, had been _madness_. 

Yet he had taken an oath to her. 

And the captain was a man of his word. 

The lift slowed to a halt, doors opening. 

Finding his footing as he struck a brisk pace down the bleak, mundane corridors, he nodded in greeting to various officers and enlisted personnel he passed. Yet the crew could see the frustration on his face, and chose to not engage him. 

A few twists and turns later, he reached the private wing of the ship. 

_Moff’s Quarters_. 

His knuckles rapped the door. 

“Enter.” Came a cry from inside. 

The captain obliged, and proceeded within the expansive suite. 

Low-lighting was prominent, various busts and statues stood on end tables around the residence, and the carpets appeared new and freshly cleaned. 

A holomap table on the far side of the adjacent sitting room is where he found her. 

Moff Vantu was alone. 

“Do come in, Mahfe,” she beckoned, eyes not leaving the holomap as she scanned about the sector. 

He licked his lips and cautiously stepped forward. 

“I told you to leave the ship in the atmosphere. Instead, you bring her down to the clouds. Why?” 

“Well, sir, when the Commander informed us that you were coming in hot, I wanted to avoid the risk of pursuit.” Mahfe stammered. 

“You have been captain of this vessel for four years, and yet you still have much to learn,” she clicked her tongue. 

“Sir?” 

“Never bring your ship past the lower atmosphere. Especially if the enemy is veiled. Imagine if they had anti-cruiser cannons? Heavy batteries? Our keel shields would be shredded in minutes.” 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” he nervously fidgeted with his fingers. 

“You had better hope not,” she purred dispassionately. 

“Did you secure the target?” He asked after a few seconds. 

“We did, yes.” She waved her hand in dismay, “there were a few minor hurdles to cross, however.” 

“Such as?” 

“Dyz himself, not willing to part without his precious payment.” She looked as though she could continue. 

“And?” He pressed further. 

“A small group of bacta runners. Insignificant..” She paused, looking to her captain for the first time. “Although, they had a clone with them.” 

“A clone? From the war?” 

“What other clones are there, Mahfe? Hmm?” 

“Right, apologies.” 

“He said he was honorably discharged due to his age.” 

“Did you believe him, sir?” 

She pursed her lips, looking back to the holomap, as if it would guide her words. She found little solace in it. 

“No.” Her tone was frigid. 

“Do you think he’s a threat?” 

“He’s one clone. I worry little about him. I did introduce him to the Commander, though.” A few fingers found her chin, stroking in thought. 

“I take it their reunion went splendidly?” 

She smirked. 

“As well as it could have, Captain. I doubt the poor boy survived.” 

“One can only hope he doesn’t have any other friends.” 

“Friends?” 

“From the war, sir.” 

“Eh. If so, they would be of no concern to me. To my knowledge, all of the clones are all still chipped. Of course, I could be wrong.” She considered the idea of being wrong, and grew flustered. “But you’re right, a band of rebellious clones could be something worth monitoring.” 

“Yes sir, of course.” Mahfe’s hands locked behind his back, as his posture grew uncomfortably stiff in her presence. 

“Did you see Cody on your way in?” Vantu asked, returning to her map to fiddle with the dials. 

“No, sir. Shall I fetch him?” 

“Indeed. Send him here. I need to discuss something with him..” Her words were punctuated often with silence, as she selected her sentences carefully and with precision. “I suspect encountering other clones who no longer serve the Empire may prove to be a thorn for him.” 

“As you wish. I will call him.” 

“Oh, and Mahfe?” She stopped him. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Those new homing beacons you imported from Eriadu, do they work well?” 

“As well as one could hope sir,” Mahfe shrugged, and he fixed a strand of black hair that rebelled from the hat on his head. 

“Good. You had better be right.” 

“I take it you put one to good use?” Mahfe inquired. 

“Yes. Onboard the clone’s ship.. in case they miraculously make it out in one piece.” Pride swelled on her face, demeanor of blatant superiority. 

“You wish to see where they go next?” 

“I wish to cover all my bases, captain. That includes ensuring that he has no _friends_ that you speak of. You claimed these new beacons possess cameras onboard. I will be putting that to the test.” 

“I understand, sir.” 

“Excellent. It’s settled. Fetch Cody and return to the bridge. Prepare for departure. You’re dismissed, captain,” she said cooly, waving him off. 

Mahfe offered a faint salute to her, and turned to leave. 

Vantu’s eyes wandered about the twinkling hologram, darting from star system to star system, as the door to her residence glided to a close. 

* * * * 

_Water._

_It had infiltrated everything. His boots, legguards, and most of the inner suit mesh. Only his head and rifle were spared, as he carried the weapon far above with outstretched arms._

_But those arms were growing wary._

_And the swamp was never ending._

_“How much further Sarge?” He called out to his superior officer._

_“Another klick, then we can flank the tinnies at their sniper nest.”_

_Dynamo sighed, looking away from Stax to Noble, who was silent, his own rifle hoisted upwards as the murky swamp water infested their plastoid, leaving muddy scars smeared across the exterior._

_It had been a long day._

_Nearly a klick on, their arms felt like ice. The simplest touch and they’d fall off. Preparing to engage the enemy in their physical circumstances sounded like a nightmare._

_But it was what they were required to do._

_The swamps of Jabiim waited for no man, spared no soldier. They were harsh, unforgiving, savage even. Killcrabs lurked just beneath the surface, preying on any clone straying too far from his squad. The shrieking cries of mantiflies circling overhead left many afraid to pause for a moment’s rest._

_The sniper’s nest drew near, they could make out its elevation from the river, a handful of B2s scurried in and out on patrol._

_They knew they would face heavy casualties. While the 501st underwent a thrashing on Umbara, the 404th met their match on Jabiim._

_That is, until he saved them._

_A surprise round of blaster fire lit up the lowland swamp, striking several troopers dead, feast for the creatures below._

_“They spotted us! Evasive action!” Noble bellowed._

_The clones could barely move their arms, struggling to pull the triggers as they trudged against the inertia of the water. The slow ones were mowed down first, like natural selection._

_Rain began to pour. It was a living hell._

_Dynamo was sure he’d die then and there, gripping his DC-15 in agonizing pain, perspiration beading along his brows._

_That’s when he heard it._

_The familiar rush of energy. The pulsing flame of a blue lightsaber cast a shadow of hope across the dark canopy._

_Clones from all squads took notice, as the Jedi stood just above the riverbank, shielding them from incoming blaster fire. His cloak billowed in the mists, and his saber flashed wildly to ricochet the killing shots._

_The Force guided every stroke, flick of the wrist, and deflection. It gave him strength._

_Like a messiah on a hill, Dynamo watched his new general as he saved their lives, the sapphire emittance of the saber hugging his face like an old friend._

_With a faint smile, he knew there was hope. The Jedi had arrived early to save them from massacre._

_And as always, Orren expected nothing in return._

_The Jedi turned, beckoning his troops to push forward. Their rallying cry was deafening in response._

_Orren and Dynamo locked eyes, and a flash of light surged._

He returned to reality. 

For once the dream did not end in a nightmare. 

Blinking awake, he shivered, finding his chest exposed to the filtered room air. 

A small blanket soon found its way over him, and he leaned up slowly to meet Al’s eyes. 

“Dy?” She said softly. 

He rubbed his head. 

“Hell of a hit you took,” she continued, “you’re safe.” 

“Where are we?” Dynamo took a quick gander around the room, it reminded him of Laeda’s clinic, only far warmer, with soft ambient lighting, a richer color scheme and exotic decor. 

He knew quickly where he was. 

“Dyz..” he said. 

“This is his medical ward. You’ve been out for a few hours. He pulled you out of the bacta.” 

Dynamo reached to his chest, it felt smooth and invigorated, almost like new. The work of bacta, or specifically, rare bacta. 

“He.. helped us?” 

“We were never paid what we were owed. He felt it necessary to repay us for our work.” 

He blinked again, looking past Al’s eyes. The room was partitioned and bisected by a sliding glass wall, which happened to be transparent. On the other side, one of Dyz’s guards lay in critical condition, attended to by a medical droid. 

Dyz stood over his vanguard, cautiously holding his faith in the recovery of his loyal confidante. 

The two men locked eyes, and Dynamo broke the gaze first, returning to Al. 

“At least this bed is more comfortable than the one on the ship,” he teased lightly, trying to lean up further. Pain ensued in his chest, radiating around to his spine. 

“You landed hard on that table, you may need a few hours of rest.” 

He ignored her suggestion. 

“Where’s Kya?” 

Al fell silent. 

“Where’s _Jol_?” 

“Kya’s out on the portico,” she murmured, and her eyes found the floor. 

Dynamo recoiled in pain as his feet fell to the floor, and he plodded out to the rear exit of the examination room. 

Just beyond the door, was the corridor to the portico, which hung over the summit of the spire, jutting out from the base of Dyz’s facility. 

Kya stood alone, the ends of her hair whipping in the wind. 

Hearing the presence of another, she turned. 

“You’re awake,” she said. 

“Barely.” 

“You look nervous, Dy.” 

“Well, last time I was on a portico, it collapsed.” 

She smirked. 

“You’re standing on duracrete, we aren’t going anywhere.” 

He moved to her side, and they turned out to face the granite canyons below. 

“Jol’s gone, Dy.” Kya stood steadfast, looking ahead solemnly. 

Dynamo struggled to find words. 

“How?” He asked her. 

“Windpipe was crushed. Couldn’t get him to supplemental oxy in time. Organs failed.” 

“I-I’m sorry, Kya.. I am.” 

“It’s to be expected in this line of work.” Her excuses only masked her grief. 

“We never signed up for _this_ line of work.” 

“As soon as we stepped foot into Dyz’s sanctum, we did. _This_ is how dirty it can get, Dy.” 

“We never banked on Imperials, though.” 

“You have Dyz to thank for that,” she said, vitriol flowing through her dialect. 

“That doesn’t change what happened Kya. We did nothing wrong, nothing out of the ordinary. Jol was just the first target.” 

“Yeah. Yeah he was,” Kya whispered. 

“He was a good man, Kya.” 

“I know he was.. I know.” 

They lingered on the moment, watching the mists part around the canyon spires. 

“I’m not sure he’ll be honored as a good man, though,” Kya said again. 

“What do you mean?” Dynamo replied, looking at her. 

She sighed. 

“Back on Onderon, we ran spice through some of the more impoverished districts of the capital. Got in deep with the wrong gangs, but we made a fortune.” 

“You and Jol ran spice?” In his four years of knowing them, not once had she ever brought it up. Nor had Jol. 

“You aren’t judging me, are you?” 

Dynamo didn’t have to think about it. 

“Not at all.” 

“We made thousands off of the backs of addicts, those struggling in poverty. Hundreds died as a result of our actions, I’m sure.” She paused, overcome with a brief spurt of emotion. 

Dynamo placed a hand on her shoulder, not unlike what Al often did for him in response to his nightmares. 

“The droids showed up eventually, and we worked with Saw to push ‘em back offworld.” She shook her head, eyes falling through the canyon. “After the war, Saw asked us to stay on with him, said we were good fighters.” 

“Did you?” 

“No.. Jol and I had decided we were done with that life. We had seen enough death, enough misery. We chose to not be the harbingers of suffering any longer. So we sought to right our wrongs.” 

“And you both have done good. So much good, Kya. Don’t ever doubt that. You’re a _good person_ , and so was Jol. Some of the best I’ve known,” Dynamo said. 

“I’m not sure his family on Onderon will feel the same way when I bring him home.” 

“Why?” 

“They kicked him out when he was young, cut him off from the family after they found out what he was doing. They never wanted to speak to him again. He had nothing, until he found me.” 

“You don’t have to bring him back to Onderon.” 

“But it’s tradition..” tears streamed from her eyes. “..it’s what he always wanted, to return home a better man than he left it as. And now he can’t.” 

“I know how it feels, Kya.. I really do. _We_ know that Jol was a better man, and we won’t forget it.” 

Her eyes met his for a second, and he could tell that she knew. 

“I know, Dy.” They embraced. “I know.” 

Their hug felt like hours. Dynamo let her decide when she was ready to part from it. He hoped his comfort would help her, as he had learned from Al. While he never wore his heart on his sleeve during the war, he had gained a bit more sympathy during his years around Al. However, they were all close-knit, and losing one of the four was like losing a part of themselves. 

Expressing his own feelings was arduous. Addressing the feelings of others came naturally. 

They heard footsteps behind them, and parted to find Dyz standing just beyond the portico’s egress. 

“What is it?” Kya asked coldly. 

“I came to check on this one,” Dyz pointed to Dynamo, who made eye contact. 

“I’m surprised you care at all,” she retorted. 

“Hold on, Kya,” Dynamo interrupted, holding up a hand to calm her down. He approached Dyz and looked the man through. 

“You saved my life?” He questioned the bacta lord. 

Dyz nodded slowly, Kya turned back to face the canyons. 

“I’m not sure what to say, other than thank you. I-.. you..” He lost his words. 

“You didn’t take me for that kind of person, did you?” 

Dynamo shook his head. 

“I didn’t.” 

Dyz smiled. 

“I once learned from my father the value of honor. Your work for me did not go unnoticed.” 

“Yeah, and what about Jol?” Kya cut in. 

Dynamo was silent as Dyz looked at her. 

“His loss was a tragic one, and it will not be forgotten,” he said delicately. 

“If you hadn’t done your _deal with the devil_ , maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation. _Maybe_ we’d all still be in one piece!” 

Dyz said nothing. 

“Yeah, real thoughtful of you,” she sneered. 

“I made a grave error in judgment. My deal with the Moff was a mistake. One I will never fail to recall.” 

Kya looked back to the vista. 

“Kya..” Dynamo started. 

“What, Dy, you expect me to roll over and not put the blame where it belongs?” She motioned to Dyz. 

“You just told me that you both knew what you signed up for. That these things happen. _Now_ you wanna threaten him after he saved my life?” He replied. 

She narrowed her eyes in frustration, drawing her blaster from its holster, she angrily stormed up to the bacta lord, sticking the hot end of the pistol to his neck. 

“Woah, woah, Kya, _no_!” Dynamo attempted to step in her way, but it was futile. 

“I had a change of heart, Dy. You and I both know if he hadn’t gone in with the Imps, none of this would’ve happened. Somebody needs to be held accountable.” 

“We _needed_ those credits, Kya. He offered us a way, we did the job, we brought the doctor here. Nobody, not even _Dyz_ knew that she was gonna stand us up and blow the place to hell.” He huffed. “We signed up for this. That’s what _you_ said. We all knew the risks. Don’t go back on your word now just because you looked Dyz in the eyes and got pissed. He _saved my life_.” 

For once, Dynamo was the reasonable one, but his attempts to defuse the tensions on the portico were arguably wasted. 

“I would strongly advise you to put the blaster down,” Dyz murmured. “You may not walk out of here alive if you go through with this.” 

“Oh yeah? And who’s to say I _want to_?” 

“Kya! You’re not thinking straight. _Stop_. Put down the blaster. The man admitted fault, he’s not the one who killed Jol.” 

Kya breathing had become labored, and her face flushed in waves of vermilion. Her eyes never left Dyz. 

“Kya..” came another voice, cooing from beyond the doorway. 

It was Al. 

The blaster fell from Dyz’s neck as she approached them. 

“It’s not his fault, Kya. Leave him be.” 

Kya’s flushed face descended into tears again, the pale returning as quickly as it had departed. 

“But he’s gone, Al..” she stammered, shrinking into her friend’s arms. 

“I know,” she stroked Kya’s hair gingerly as she sobbed. 

“She’s in grief,” Dyz whispered to Dynamo. “Seeing me only triggered her anger, nothing more. Come with me,” he beckoned. 

Dynamo hesitated momentarily, but obliged, leaving the two women embraced on the portico. 

“That Moff, she knew you, didn’t she?” Dyz asked as they strolled down the corridor. 

Dynamo struggled to keep himself focused on the conversation and not the ornate paintings that hung from the walls. 

“I served under her. She wasn’t the most popular officer.” 

“Small galaxy, it seems,” Dyz remarked. “Did she recognize you as part of her old force?” 

“As a soldier who she personally ferried around? Doubtful. As just another face in the old army? Well.. you and I both saw her reaction to that. We’re hard to miss, we clones.” 

“I’ve noticed. You carry something with you that makes it easier.” 

“Which is?” 

“Remorse.” 

Dynamo didn’t respond. 

“I could see it in your eyes the moment she spoke. It reminded you of the war, didn’t it?” 

Dyz was good. 

“It all did,” Dynamo replied. 

“While I may not personally endorse your merry band of bacta runners, I can admire your empathy for others. You’ve found a good distraction in your time apart from the Republic.” 

“Unfortunately, I think that distraction has come to an end.” 

“Is it vengeance you seek?” 

“What I seek, is to inform those more powerful than I about what she’s up to, figure out how to stop it.” 

“I’m truly sorry for what transpired. Really, I am.” Dyz’s sincerity was not misplaced, his congeniality was noted by Dynamo. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Please, you may call me Dyz.” 

“Very well then. Thank you, Dyz.” 

“Your ship appears still intact in my hangar bay, which is a good thing for you. Whenever you are ready to depart, I will not stop you. I have instructed my vanguard to load some weapons onboard your ship, should you have a close encounter again.” 

“And the credits?” Dynamo asked. 

“I have strict apportionment among my employees, wavering from that could put me in grave danger of contractual breaching. However, I have made an exception and taken the risk, to provide you with ten-thousand credits. It’s not the full amount, but it is all I can do without collapsing my business.” 

“You struck me as a rich man.” 

“My wealth is organized and fine-tuned like a clock. Every credit, every coin, every cent, every ounce of wealth is arranged in such a way that just as it flows in, it flows back out to the appropriate source without delay. Disrupting that process for a handsome payout would put my entire operation in risk of financial collapse. Surely, you must understand.” 

Dyz offered his hand in agreement, as they had reached the entrance to the medical wing. There was nothing disingenuous about him, yet Dynamo still knew to be cautious of trusting a bacta lord. 

“We’ll take the ten-thousand then, nothing less,” he obliged Dyz’s offering with a firm handshake. 

“Very well. It is settled then.” He clapped his hands, and two guards came from around the corner. 

“Thank you again, for.. saving my ass.” Dynamo offered a smile. 

“It was the least I could do. You seem to be a man of integrity, of honor. I am sorry that you fell into this mess.” 

“Don’t be. I knew what I signed up for.” 

Dyz only looked at him for a moment, before ushering his guards to escort him to his personal chambers. 

Dynamo remained just outside the medical wing. 

“Oh, and clone!?” Dyz called back. 

“Yeah?” 

“If you ever seek out the Moff, you will only ever find her on her ship. The _Prosecutor_.” 

The hair on Dynamo’s arms stood on end as the survival of his old ship was confirmed. 

“Why’s that?” He asked shakily. 

“It’s a personal attachment for her. Nobody quite knows why. She rarely leaves it.” 

“And why do you think I’d ever seek her out?” 

“I can imagine a man like _you_ would have a score to settle with someone like her.” 

Dynamo raised his eyebrows. Dyz Exum made no miscalculation. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” 

“Just be wary, clone. Moff Vantu is not one to be trifled with.” 

“Noted. And by the way, the name’s Dynamo.” 

Just like that, he was D no longer. 

The Fourth Bacta Lord of Thyferra smiled. 

“Very well. Safe travels to you, Dynamo.” 

Dyz whisked himself around the next corner, his ostentatious robes flowing behind. 

Dynamo dressed in the medical wing, grabbing any personal items that were left behind, and returned to the portico. 

The pair of women were standing, hands on the railing, watching the trails of wind weave in and out of the mist clouds. They were both wordless. 

“I have to go.. I have to tell the others.” Dynamo said. 

Neither replied, but Al turned to him, her face contorting into confusion. 

“What?” She finally said, moving to his side. “What do you mean?” 

“I know you do,” Kya interrupted. 

Dynamo looked to her, hearing nothing but faint flutters of wind sailing between the portico’s columns. 

She turned to look at them. 

“As soon as she recognized you back there, I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk you out of this.” 

“What is she talking about, Dy?” Al said, gripping his arm in worry. 

“He’s been running, Al,” Kya said. 

Dynamo didn’t acknowledge her, but she was right. 

“Running? From what?” Al asked, looking between the pair. 

“Himself.” 

“What do you mean? You’re not really leaving, are you?” Al’s eyes found Dynamo’s. 

“I have to,” he whispered. “I secured ten-thousand for you both from Dyz, you’ll be okay for a while.” 

“Let me come with you,” Al pleaded, tears welling in her irises. “Kya will go, she wants to get back at them just as much as you do.” 

“No, Al.” Dynamo said. “Not this time.” 

She was speechless, clutching him tighter, her head tucking into his shoulder as a single teardrop reached the floor. 

Kya nodded at him, the echoes of sorrow still loitered across her features. 

“He’s right. He’s still a soldier. I’ve seen enough death and destruction for one lifetime,” she began. “But _you_? You’ve trained for this your whole life. You were ripped away from it right when you thought you had reached the end, by those _bastards_ up there,” she pointed to the sky, towards the greater breadth of the Empire. 

She took a few steps towards him, never once looking away from his eyes. 

“I can still do good for this galaxy, in Jol’s name. You could too, but I know it’s far too late to ask that of you,” she smirked, and he returned it kindly. “You know I’m smarter than to take on the Imperials headfirst. That’s suicide. Especially against one like _that_. We’d be throwing away our chance to make a difference.. But I know that if anyone can do this, you and your old friends can.” She took a deep breath. “So I want you to make me a promise, Dy.” She laid a hand on his chest, staring up at him. 

“Name it.” 

“You go back.. and you avenge my Jol.” Her hand pressed into him. 

Dynamo’s eyes told her everything she needed to know, without saying a word. He took Kya’s hand and clasped it within his as her tears threatened to return. Al clung to his side, burying her own anguish in him. 

“Anything else?” He asked Kya, fighting back the urge to cry himself. 

“Yeah.” 

“What is it?” 

“You light that _bitch_ up for me.” 

He smiled, taking them both in his arms and rocking them under the balcony, as the wind lifted the trio to new aspirations. 

“Where is it you need carryin’ to, Dy?” Kya uttered against his chest. 

Dynamo’s eyes met a flock of majestic whitebirds, ascending into the heavens. 

Perhaps Jol was with them. 

“Dantooine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my **favorite** chapters to write, combined with the next chapter which I wrote back-to-back, even though there was no action, it was entirely character and dialogue driven. It also made me slightly emotional, not because of Jol's death -- he was a minor character whose death moves the plot forward -- but because this is really where I started pulling some of the threads together and I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel! Act 3 will be a hell of a ride. 
> 
> Another side note about the writing process, I really enjoy writing Dynamo. He's perhaps the most conflicted out of all the surviving clones, second to maybe Chuckles. Dynamo and Orren's story really parallel in my mind, both are trying to reject their past and who they were, and are trying to move on with new lives. One became a bacta runner, the other a farmer and hermit. It's when they both come to grips with who they are, which Dynamo begins to do now, is when their character arcs begin to reach their climax.
> 
> Each clone I wrote has some sort of turmoil or character-defining struggle that they have to come to grips with. Noble, Rex, and Wolffe are wondering if they're destined to be soldiers forever, and what it means to stop being a soldier for once. Karma (who hasn't been touched on much yet) sometimes misses a life in the service and wonders if retiring was the right move, because he secretly longs to get back out there. Dynamo struggles with who he is and who he was in the past, and confronting the reality of being a clone. Fix has issues with his social skills and adapting to life outside of the service. Chuckles is still mourning the loss of his best friend, and needs somebody to blame for that before he feels he can move on. 
> 
> Sorry for the long notes here, I really got involved on this chapter and the next in terms of characterization. This became far bigger than I originally planned in terms of scope and I can't wait to finish it.


	16. Journey to the Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a brief lull from the action, Orren Kara journeys to the heart of Auratera's deep forests.

**XVI**

* * * * 

Auratera -- 14 BBY 

Two lightsabers locked fiercely. The blue on green swordplay shot torrents of ethereal sparks into the air, as the eyes of the combatants were trained on one another. 

“Hey! You’re pushing him too hard.” 

A plastoid action figure draped in Jedi robes dropped to the ground. 

“Whaddya mean too hard? My Jedi is evil, he can be strong.” A young voice asked. 

“It needs to be even, they are master and apprentice. They should know each other’s moves!” 

“C’mon Luko, it’s just a game.” 

“But still. We gotta play _right_.” 

“Play by yourself then.” 

The other action figure was thrown to the dirt outside the orphanage as the boy got up to leave. Luko sat alone, opting to play with them himself. 

“Luko.” This voice was far more mature, with an added sternness. 

The boy turned to his matron, who stood at the doorway of the dainty structure, as a few bits of dust swirled around them. 

“What?” 

“It’s getting dark, time to be coming in for the night.” 

“ _Okay_ ,” he said dejectedly, as he grabbed his two Jedi figures and followed her lead. 

The matron gave a hint of a smile as she watched the boy duck under her arm to enter the children’s home. 

“Oh and Matron?” He asked. 

“What is it, child?” 

“Orren said I can go with him tomorrow.” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“A few hours maybe, not too long, I think.” 

“You think?” 

“Orren will look out for me.” 

She scoffed, moving to the kitchen as the other children frolicked about. 

“ _Please_ Matron?” 

The matron only shook her head in apprehension, continuing to roll the dough for a bread. 

“Fine,” she relented. “But be back by dusk, or I’ll have a search party out for you, you hear me?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He took a swig of blue milk from the counter and climbed to his top bunk. 

Luko had trouble sleeping that night. His mind raced with possibilities of the coming day. The boy had begged Orren for over a year to make the journey with him. While it wasn’t far, Orren had always rejected the proposal on account of the “dangers.” Luko knew the older he got, the easier time he would have trying to convince the young man to let him tag along. 

This time, he had finally succeeded. 

He had preferred his time with Orren anyways, taking to his side like a little brother, while Orren looked out for him more often than the matron ever did. 

But Orren had told him before that he could not, _would not_ , adopt him. It crushed the boy, and he had never, to this day, found out why. 

Perhaps tomorrow, he’d get some answers. 

Dawn found its way to the sky in a robust fashion, brilliant orange hues streaking across a waning purple glow. 

As the other children snored in their bunks, Luko crept into his only pair of shoes, a worn pair of children’s freight-hoppers, and dashed for the door. The lack of sleep seemingly had no effect on his exuberance to go on an adventure. 

Outside the home, the matron sat, with a small mug of caf cradled in her hand as she watched the sunrise. The boy stopped in his tracks and inspected her with caution to ensure she did not have a change of heart. 

“Yes, you may still go, Luko.” 

The boy grinned and bolted off. 

“But remember!” She called out as he rushed towards the town gates, “back _before_ dark!” 

“I know, I know!” He shouted back, sprinting past the gate guard and out of sight. 

The winding path up the bluff to Orren’s hut was a fairly long one, covered by a few shrubs, overgrown summer brush and lush flowering plants. The man did his best to maintain the path, but it was not his property, so he often focused on his own crop. 

A sliver of smoke rose from the peak of the home, its outline illuminated by the rising celestial body. 

The crops out back grew fervently, as traces of sunlight crept between the stalks and stems of the Uneti tree to guide their path to harvest. 

“Orren!” Luko cried as he reached the door. A few raps and it opened. 

“You’re early,” Orren said with a smirk, a wooden toothbrush rubbing paste across his teeth. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” the boy replied as he eagerly hurried inside. He found a spot to sit near the wood stove, where the leftovers of a previous night’s meal sat ready to be discarded. 

The hut, which appeared cramped from the outside, was rather spacious on the inside. 

Upon entry, one would find themselves in a working kitchen for one, complete with a running sink, small freezer box, and a few shelves for storing non-perishables from the market. Felucian marmac soap was housed in a cylindrical bottle beside the faucet. 

Beyond that, a small yet cozy den housed the wood stove, a few stools, fireplace, wardrobe, and a bed off to the corner. 

Within a side-room was the washroom, with a basin for clothes, a rack to dry, another sink and mirror, and a shower with tub, sourced from one of Orren’s deep-wells on the property. 

“Are you prepared?” Orren asked from the washroom. 

“You didn’t tell me I needed anything!” 

“Your sense of adventure, perhaps?” 

“I always got that! And o’course, my lucky shoes.” His _only_ shoes. 

Orren returned from the washroom and ruffled the boy’s hair, before fetching a green knapsack from the corner and slipping into a lightweight pair of boots, adorned in dust and a few strands of weeds from his time in the garden. 

“Alright then, let’s go.” 

Luko was out as quick as he was in, and the pair set off towards the towering conifers that flanked Orren’s hut. 

While the village of Klaria, just below, lay in a somewhat muddy, natural dip in the regional elevation, most of the northern hemisphere of Auratera was hilly, swept in temperate rainforest and redwood coniferous trees that rose hundreds of meters into the sky. 

One of the most widespread thickets for kilometers around was situated on the other side of Orren’s land, acting as a protective barrier to his hut from any _outside forces_. 

The pair trudged through a few mud puddles from a previous rain. Neither paused to avoid it, they just let it splash. 

Entering the forest at the treeline, Orren glanced back to the Uneti growing just behind his hut. Still not a single leaf had grown on its structure. 

Guiding the boy into the woods, a few pine needles and remnants of bark crunched under their shoes. 

“So, how far is it exactly?” Came the first question from Luko. 

“Not far. Perhaps a two hour hike. You can handle that, can’t you?” Orren replied with a pearly smile. 

“ _Of course_ I can!” The boy’s optimism and energy knew no bounds. 

“But, you must do exactly as I say, as soon as I say it, do you understand?” The man said, growing a bit more strict in his tone. 

“Jeez Orren, you’re starting to sound like the matron.” 

Orren laughed. 

“Just trying to keep you alive.” 

Luko tensed up a bit hearing the word _alive_. 

“Am I gonna die!?” He asked. 

“No, Luko. Calm down. We’re just taking a hike. You know I do this every month and I come back _just fine_.” Placing his arm on the boy’s shoulder to help him across a fallen tree, they pushed on into the deeper growth. 

Minutes of silence pervaded the air as they tread heartily between the trees and past moss-covered logs. 

Finally, the boy spoke up again. 

“Orren?” 

“Yes?” 

“Are you a _Jedi?_ ” 

Orren continued walking, although his gaze grew tired. 

Luko looked up to him for an answer. 

The man did not have one to give. 

“Orren?” 

“What, Luko?” 

“Why won’t you answer me?” 

“Because.” 

“Because _why_?” 

The child was going to become incessant, and he knew he would have had to address it at some point, given Luko’s rabid curiosity and obsession with the fantasy of the Jedi Order. 

“Because there are some things that are better left unanswered.” 

“You know, that’s a pretty bad answer if you’re trying to hide something.” The boy smirked. 

“I’m not hiding anything.” 

“Then why didn’t you just say no?” 

Orren sighed, stepping past the massive stump of a fallen redwood, which had bisected a row of rain-blessed conifers to his left and created an entire habitat for insects and lichen. 

“Some questions in this galaxy are dangerous.” 

“A question? Dangerous? How?” Luko asked. 

“If you ask the wrong question to the wrong person, you could get hurt. I don’t want that to happen to you.” 

“Are you going to hurt me Orren?” He grew slightly alarmed. 

“ _No_ , of course I’m not. But other people might. That’s a sensitive question.” 

“Why?” 

Orren fell quiet. 

“Why, Orren?” 

“Because the Jedi are gone, Luko. That’s why.” He kept pacing, a few heavy blinks reached his wary eyes. “They don’t exist anymore.” 

“Then who was that woman?” The boy asked again. 

“What woman?” 

“The one from before, with the pointy head thingies.” The child motioned to his head, pointing up to draw a pair of montrals. 

_Dammit, Ahsoka_. 

“She was just a traveler.” 

“Didn’t look that way to me.” 

“You were watching us?” The pair had reached a ravine, with flowing rapids below, descending from a distant mountain aquifer. A fallen conifer bridged the ravine, yet despite it’s width, the base of the trunk and its bark were slippery. 

“You know I can see your hut from the orphanage!” Luko defended himself, as Orren offered to carry him. 

“I can do it,” Luko insisted, climbing up to the tree-bridge. 

“Be _careful_.” 

The boy gripped the edges of the tree warily, his eyes focused on the waters raging below, rather than the path ahead. 

“Eyes up,” Orren said as he slowly followed the boy’s crawl. The man had crossed so many times, he could have done it blindfolded. He kept himself upright as he walked the bridge, hardly teetering once by midway, utilizing his excessive balance training over the years. 

Luko had crawled two-thirds of the way across when he stopped to look back. Orren gave him a hurried look. 

“So who was the lady?” He asked. 

Orren covered his face with his palm. 

“Luko! Ask once we reach the _other side_ , please.” Luko was urged forward by a wave of Orren’s hand, and the boy merely grimaced. 

Nearing the edge, a blue-tinted butterfly caught the boy’s eye, and his gaze drifted from where his hand placement should have been. 

His hand reached up to grip the next chipped section of bark, but it met only slippery wood, and he slipped, tumbling off of the edge of the tree, his other arm barely clinging to a shoddy piece of bark that had begun to tear. 

“ _Orren!_ ” The boy cried in fear, as the rapids surged far below his lucky shoes. 

Orren swore under his breath and quickly dropped to his knees, grabbing Luko by his clinging arm and hoisting him up onto his back as he quickly balanced the rest of the walk across the tree. 

“Regular people can’t do that, Orren.” Luko said, his voice quivering a bit as he hopped to the ground. 

Orren put his hand on Luko’s shoulder, leaning down to one knee. 

“Are you okay?” 

The child nodded. 

“Now answer my question.” 

Orren shook his head, growing frustrated. 

“I should never have brought you along!” He said, walking ahead into the next grove of trees, as the wildlife sang around them. 

“You’re more stubborn than _me_!” Luko called back, chasing after him. 

“You won’t let it rest, Luko.” Orren retorted. 

“Because _you_ won’t give me an answer.” 

“I’m allowed to keep things to myself.” 

“So she was a Jedi then,” Luko reaffirmed to himself. 

Orren’s hands found his face once again and he stopped in a clearing, wild grasses and sedges tickling at his clothed knees. 

“What makes you think she was a Jedi, hmm?” Orren asked Luko. 

The boy looked up at him. 

“She carried lightsabers.” 

“And you saw them?” 

“Yeah..” 

“How?” 

“I uh.. I followed her into the market after she left your hut. I saw them on her waist while she was buying some apples.” 

“How do you know they were lightsabers?” Orren queried. 

“I _know_ what lightsabers look like, Orren,” Luko replied, a tinge of pride in his inflection. 

Orren sighed again. 

“She was asking me for travel advice to Harron, the nearest speeder depot, provisions, clothing, that’s it.” Orren held up his hand to stop the boy from asking further. “Come, we’re not far away.” 

“I don’t understand why you want to hide everything from me. Am I not old enough yet?” Luko pressed, following Orren through the clearing into another green thicket, as dew drops descended from the pines above. 

“Because it’s _dangerous_ Luko!” Orren insisted. “Why do you think I chose not to adopt you?” 

“I dunno,” the boy fiddled with his fingers, remembering the disappointment. 

“Because you would be in danger.” 

“Danger from what?” 

“Anyone who wants to hurt me, would try to do it through you.” 

“Why would anyone wanna hurt yo--..” the boy realized, and his face lit up like the starboard warning lights of an Imperial police cruiser. 

“So you _are_ a Jedi!” 

Orren’s eyes fell to the forest floor as they plodded deeper. 

“I was.” 

“So what happened then?” 

“We were defeated, and the Order was destroyed, so I fled here in exile.” 

“Exile? You mean you ran away?” 

“There was nothing left, Luko, you must understand that.” 

“You were left. That’s _something_.” 

“I failed. The bad guys won.” 

“So? Then you try again until you win.” 

“It’s not that easy.” 

“So how did you and that lady manage to survive when nobody else did?” 

“It’s a long story,” Orren said. 

“We’re on a long walk.” 

The boy was more clever, at times, than Orren gave him credit for. 

Perhaps he took after his idol. 

“On the way back, yeah? We’re almost there now.” 

“Okay.” 

Clearing another patch of densely crowded conifers, soaring and weaving their way into the sky, they reached a sharp decline in the terrain, sloping down to the entrance of a rocky cave. The cave appeared to form at the base of a series of hills, which rose at the edge of the forest, peaking into mountains a few klicks in the distance. 

Two monoliths guarded the cave’s entrance, worn down through natural decay and the processes that belonged to erosion. The stone pillars were imposing, and looked to be immovable. Chiseled into the faces of both were figures of long past, gripping staff-like weapons as their gaze rested on those who entered. 

“What is this place?” Luko’s eyes grew wide, taking in the sight. 

“It used to be a Jedi meditation ground. Now it’s empty.” 

“You were bringing me to a _Jedi_ meditation ground and you weren’t even gonna tell me that _you_ were a Jedi?” 

“I had hoped you wouldn’t ask.” 

“You don’t know me very well then,” the boy giggled. 

The two stood on the edge of the decline, observing the cave as Auratera’s single sun poked through the tree branches above them. 

It was empty. Lonely. Solitary. Only the songs of the birds filled their ears, only the faint rush of water from the nearby river. The grounds were isolated and probably well off of the map of any of the planet’s frequent flyers. 

“How did you find it?” Luko asked. 

“It’s what brought me here. A vergence in the Force exists within. I came here five years ago to watch over it, so I moved to your village, the only settlement nearby.” 

While they were a few klicks out from Klaria, nobody could ever find them here, nobody dared venture off of the main road that led from the distant hamlet to the capital townstead of Harron. That road was the regional lifeline. Speeders had whizzed over the dirt and dust over time, and kept it active, while the great number of sauntered shoe tracks kept weeds and grasses away, creating a definitive road that thousands used a week to ferry goods and services between the population centers. 

That same road also gave many citizens a sense of safety, away from the eerie creatures that were often purported to stalk the woods after nightfall. 

Orren took no stock in such wives’ tales. He had never encountered any beast, friendly or unfriendly, in the forests around Klaria or the cave, even after nightfall. 

Even if he had, approaching it with _fear_ was not the _Jedi way_. 

He wondered if Ahsoka had felt the vergence presented by the cave itself, or if the power of his tree had already drowned out the other presences on the planet. 

Orren ushered Luko down the slope towards the cave’s mouth, where he stopped the boy and momentarily ducked under the opening to inspect it’s sustainability and well-being. 

Deeming it clear of any tampering, he allowed Luko to follow him inside, and the eager footsteps of the excited child thumped behind him. 

A few paces inside, the narrow entry passage -- which was carved of rock -- gave way to a widening and spacious antechamber, with a sunspot in it’s roof, allowing for daylight to stream in from the peak of the hill that the cave was built under. 

Four additional monoliths were positioned symmetrically in each corner, facing their opposites. 

“Are those.. Jedi?” Luko pointed them out. 

“Yes. Well. They’re supposed to be,” Orren smiled. “This cave was used many centuries ago, it has seen exposure to both elements and to time itself, which is the greatest power in a place like this.” 

“So it’s all true..” the boy whispered, stepping forward to the room’s central platform, into the light. 

“What is?” Orren asked. 

“The stories, tales, everything the other kids used to whisper about before the matron put an end to it.” 

“Some people wouldn’t agree with you, Luko.” 

“They would if they saw what I’m seeing! If they knew _you_!” 

“I told you, I’m not a Jedi anymore.” Orren kneeled, removing the knapsack from his back and untying the rope to plunge his hand inside. 

Luko stumbled around in awe, his small hand brushing away dust from the staves of the Jedi monoliths, curious gaze wandering to the ceiling, and the light that fell from below. He laughed in sheer joy at the tales coming to life before him. 

Orren, meanwhile, had taken a few small vials of liquid from within the knapsack and placed them on the rock floor. A canteen also emerged from the bag, and he told Luko to come have a drink. 

“I’m not thirsty, I’m exploring!” 

“It’s good to stay hydrated, Luko.” 

“Okay, _okay_ , fine.” He pounced over to the canteen, gulping a third of the water down before hopping away to another section of the antechamber to inspect a set of runes on the wall. 

Unplugging a vial, Orren began sprinkling the liquid -- a delicate blue substance -- around the central platform and at the bases of the monoliths 

“What is that stuff?” Luko asked. 

“Uneti sap, it comes from the roots of the tree behind my hut,” came the reply. He was deeply focused on the task at hand as the boy came over to watch. 

“Uneti?” 

“Yes, it’s a sacred tree to the Jedi. The sap it produces has a special coating that protects things from harsh exposure. It’s what allows the tree to grow so sturdy and strong.” 

“Why sprinkle it here?” The boy returned. 

“It protects these things from the pressures of time and nature, keeps them around a little bit longer.” 

“Nobody comes here anymore though, right?” 

Orren kept sprinkling, not replying. 

“ _Right_?” 

“I’m the only one who still journeys here,” Orren began. “But not to meditate, to maintain.” 

“You keep it clean then?” 

“I make sure no looter or friend of the Empire finds it.” 

“So you’re _not_ a Jedi, but you grew a Jedi tree, take care of an old Jedi cave, and have a Jedi friend?” 

Orren fought the smile creeping on his face, but it was of no use. 

“I suppose you’re right then.” 

“Sounds like you’re still a Jedi to me then,” Luko poked him. “You just are afraid to admit it.” 

“You’re a smart kid, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told.” 

Orren chuckled. 

“You’d make a fine Jedi, Luko.” 

The boy did a double take. 

“Say what? Me? A Jedi!? No way.” 

“It’s true. You have many defining traits of a great Jedi Knight. You’re smart -- quite clever honestly -- compassionate, confident, and you hold a good intuition.” 

“Maybe one day I could.” 

Orren’s smile waned as he wrapped up his maintenance. 

“However,” he began. The boy’s attention snapped back. “You need to be careful of being too eager, rushing into things without thinking. You are still a child, but being impulsive and reckless as a Jedi do not always lead to good outcomes.” 

Luko frowned, and Orren took quick notice. He leaned down and propped up the boy’s chin with his index finger. 

“You’re a good kid, Luko. Like a young brother I never had. With enough training, you would make a great Jedi. Perhaps better than myself.” 

The frown dissolved into another elated smile, and he pulled Orren into a tiny bear hug. 

As Orren embraced Luko, he remembered himself. 

_“Are you a_ Jedi _?”_

_“I am. And I believe you could be, as well.”_

_“What do you mean? I’m just a street kid. Nobody ever wanted me.”_

_“You have a good heart, and a clever mind.”_

_“I guess, but what does that have to do with anything?”_

_“It means everything as a Jedi. Trust yourself, your skills, your feelings, and hone them.”_

_“I’m not sure I know how to do that, sir.”_

_“But you can, Orren. Because I can teach you.”_

_The hand of his former master extended down, as the airspeeders zoomed overhead in the Lower City. Orren contemplated taking it, leaving behind the only home he’s ever known._

_But to become a_ Jedi _? That’s an honor unlike perhaps anything else he’d ever have. He grew up hearing the legends of the iconic lightsabers, the Force, the mighty power of the Order, and their great temples._

_He decided on that day, he would make his own legend._

_To trust the Force._

_Orren took the hand._

A tear fell from his cheek, carving a path to his chin, and reaching the stone floor in a soft patter. 

“How much longer do we get to stay here?” Luko asked, breaking from him to bask in the soft stream of sunlight once again. 

“Not much longer, unfortunately. You know the days are short this time of year.” The days on Auratera were not like the more populated worlds, which were settled due to their similar celestial charts. Coruscant had longer daylight in the summers and shorter daylight in the winters. Auratera was the opposite, only the sun burned hotter in the summer, allowing for a more prosperous growing period. 

Luko’s head hung in discouragement. 

“But I’m sure you can return with me next month,” Orren smiled. 

“That’d be great!” Luko perked up. 

Orren guided him out of the cave and back up to the forest. The boy stopped a final time to glance back at the monoliths of the Jedi, before following his friend back towards the village. 

“So, about that story.” Luko said. 

“You’re right. I said I’d tell you, didn’t I?” 

Orren was met with only a grin from his small companion. 

As they walked on through the trees, passing the ravine, and through thickets of dancing moths and chirping crickets, Orren began his tale. 

While he recanted his tale of his life as a Jedi, he couldn’t help but be amused as the boy’s eyes were dazzled with amazement and a desire to know more. 

Shifting gears and telling him the story of Quermia, the clones, Order 66, and his exile, he noticed Luko growing more sullen. 

The sun fell as quickly as it rose, and they were nearing Orren’s hut once again. 

“Now Luko,” Orren warned, “you mustn’t tell anyone about what we discussed today. None of it. Tell no one. Not your friends, not the matron, not the marshal -- especially not the marshal -- you must keep it a secret between us, okay? Remember what I said, it could be dangerous. Promise me?” 

“I promise.” 

Orren hoped he would keep his word, but trusted the boy nonetheless. 

“So how did that lady survive?” Luko asked. 

“Her name is Ahsoka, and I’m not quite sure.” 

“You didn’t ask her?” 

“It didn’t come up.” 

“Oh.. maybe next time then,” the boy said, taking off to dash the last few meters to the hut. 

_Next time_ , Orren thought. _There won’t be a next time._

The planet’s sun stubbornly resisted the inevitable for as long as it could, before the final slivers slunk below the horizon. Auratera’s mountainous side was quickly plunged into the semi-darkness of dusk, which was Luko’s signal to return to the orphanage. 

Orren waved goodbye from the top of the bluff, while the boy’s sprint down the trail left dust in his wake, as it always did. 

He watched Luko’s figure grow smaller and smaller, until it disappeared into the village, and the final light in the orphanage blinked out for the evening. 

Orren found his way inside, lighting a candle and preparing a small supper. 

In the process of basting the shank of an Auraboar, he thought back to Ahsoka’s words. 

_“Failure is a part of living, it is a powerful teacher. The Force guides us to our path. But it’s up to us to walk that path. It doesn’t do it for you. You should know that better than most. Master Plo told me about when he found you--..”_

The Lower City was grimy, dangerous, no place for a child. Yet Orren persisted, and outlived nearly all of his friends. He had his grit, tenacity, and reliance on the unknown power that dwelled within him; those facets of his core had all kept him alive. 

That power was the Force. Through it, Plo Koon had found him. 

And in the Force’s most desperate hour, the _galaxy’s_ most desperate hour, he turned his back on it, and soon there were no Jedi left to stop the flood. 

He was scared of his own failure, relying on the Force for so long, he forgot how to rely on himself again. 

Losing his appetite over the thoughts of the past, he stepped outside to a crisp, clear night. Cicadas chattered and echoed through the redwoods, and fireflies shimmered around him, as he looked to the starry sky. 

All of it once the Republic, now the Empire. Democracy felt dead. Hope felt dead. 

The Jedi Order _was_ dead. But was he? 

Sighing, he folded his arms and returned inside the hut. A lingering notion, for a different time perhaps. 

He blew the candle out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't rant on forever like I did on the last, but I loved writing this chapter, as well as the previous one. They were written back-to-back. Both are very character-driven, and dialogue-heavy. I got a lot of inspiration for Orren and Luko's journey from other works of fiction, which I'll detail in a bonus chapter probably. 
> 
> We're now at the point in the story where the character-driven and dialogue-focused chapters are prominent, because we've reached the climax of most of the clones' individual stories, so now it's mostly falling action and another buildup to the big unified climax. Act 3 is gonna be **nuts** on both action and characterization if I can bring the vision to paper correctly. For those who may still be on the fence, hopefully I can deliver a good final act for you. It's my first fic, so I'm doing my absolute best.


	17. The Jedi & The Senator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and revelations abound.

**XVII**

* * * * 

Dantooine -- 14 BBY 

The glass of spotchka found his lips at full tilt. 

He was tired, eager for a respite from work. It had been a long week, chasing down bandits and hustling away pirates in the back alleys of Dantooine’s local spaceports. 

Karma wanted to sleep. But first, he needed a drink. A boost, to get him through the rest of the evening as his children played in an adjacent room. 

“How you feelin’ hun?” Sala entered the kitchen where her husband sat solemnly. He didn’t look at her. 

“As good as I could after a ten hour shift.” 

“Security detail been rough?” She moved over to him, pausing her ongoing repair of their kitchen conservator. 

“It’s been hell. Haven’t seen crime levels this high since I started four years ago.” 

Sala gripped his shoulders with her toned hands and massaged deep into the tendons. He groaned as the tension eased, albeit slightly. 

“I’m sorry Karm. Do you think that raise is gonna end up being worth it?” 

“I don’t have the luxury of questioning that, Sala, you know that. Work is work, I take what I can get, for the children’s sake. Even if it’s grimy like this.” 

“I can grab a few extra shifts this week,” she said. “We’re doing fine with money, but I know you wanted to surprise them with a trip to the mountain range in the summer.” 

“And I’ve saved nothing for it,” he said, head falling into hands. 

“Hey,” she stopped him, leaning to his eye level. “ _You_ are doing a wonderful job. You’re a wonderful father, and husband. I couldn’t ask for better. Don’t beat yourself up over it, Karm.” 

Karma fell silent, hearing only the inhale and exhale of his lungs. 

“What is it?” She asked her husband. 

“It’s nothing,” he waved his hand in dismissal. 

“Talk to me, please,” Sala pressed. 

Karma drew his head out of his hands and looked to his wife. 

“I just wonder sometimes if I made the right decision, retiring from the service.” 

“Was it even a retirement though? You were on the run from the Empire, I doubt they’d give you pension unless you lied about your chip.” 

“Last I heard, that’s what Chuckles did,” he replied. Knowing Chuckles, he lied about his chip and used his clone trooper number to gain a good pension from the Empire’s military fiscal disbursement office. 

“Would you be making enough though?” 

“I dunno. But that’s not the point, Sala. The point is, I miss it.” 

“You miss the war?” 

He shook his head. 

“No. I don’t miss the death. The destruction. But I miss the thrill. The rush. Running from star system to star system not knowing what’s in store for us next. One night we’re camping under the stars on Felucia, the next we’re sharing exotic fruits with the Air Combat Wing on Deko Neimoidia.” 

Karma sighed, leaning back in the chair as Sala returned to massaging his shoulders. 

“I miss my brothers. Rolling over in a bunk and hearing one of them crack a joke in the dead of night. Hanging on for dear life with ‘em as our gunship rockets through the atmosphere.” He blinked away a tear. “I just miss it all Sala. I wish I could have both.” 

“Both?” She asked, hands kneading deeper into his muscles. 

“Both. Yeah. Have you and the kids, but keep my old life.” 

“You want to put your life on the line every day?” 

“I’m practically doing that now with the pirates we’re fending off at the spaceports. What’s the difference at this point?” 

She was quiet. 

“Sala?” He asked, turning to lock eyes with her. 

“I know, Karm.” She ran her fingers through his black hair. “I know. You don’t have to say anything.” 

“I love you, Sala. I love the children. I always will. _Never_ think that I regret this. Any of this. I just wish I could have kept what I had, and keep you in the process.” A long breath escaped him, and she could sense his exasperation. 

“Why don’t you go ask Noble if you can work with them again?” 

“I’ve thought about it. It’s just not the same. They’ve become glorified bookkeepers. It’s.. different now.” 

“It’s good work, though. Helping the galaxy.” 

“From a certain point of view, yeah.” 

“Do you share that point of view?” Sala asked him. 

“I do. But many don’t.” 

“Screw ‘em then. You do what makes _you_ happy, Karm. We’ll support you no matter what.” In the other room, Tyno called for his mother, and she left a quick peck on the cheek of her husband before disappearing into the den. 

Karma stood from the kitchen table, moving to the conservator to continue the repair work that Sala had begun, when the telecomlink shrilled in the foyer. 

“Blast it,” he muttered, as the tiny spanner jerked out of position and a bolt fell to the floor. 

“I got it!” He shouted, leaving the conservator and entering the foyer. 

Fetching the telecom, there was a familiar presence on the other side. 

“Karma?” Came the voice. 

“Hey, Cap,” his tone failed to mask his frustration. 

“Somebody doesn’t sound happy,” Captain Noble joked over the fuzziness of the comlink. 

“Nah, just fixin’ the conservator. What’s going on?” Karma brushed it off. 

“Change of plans. Rex and I won’t be able to make it tonight.” This was the first time in months that they had to take a rain check, and Karma unhappiness persisted. 

“Everything okay?” He asked. 

“We’re expecting Bail Organa himself this evening, a little impromptu visit to check on our project’s progress,” Noble said. 

“The Ossus thing?” Karma asked, he recalled their previous conversation. 

“Yeah. We’ve made good headway but Bail wants an in-person update, so he’ll be arriving directly from the capital in a few hours.” 

“Best of luck. Come by when you can.” 

“I’ll see you soon, old buddy.” Came Noble’s rushed voice. 

“Yeah, see you.” He took a split second and jumped to follow-up. “Oh and Noble?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Uh.. if it’s possible..” he glanced into the den to see if his wife was nearby. “Do you have any room for extra help at the facility?” 

He could almost sense Noble’s smile through the comlink. 

“You bet we do. I’ll talk to Rex and Bail tonight and see what we can do for ya. Talk soon, yeah?” 

“Sure thing, Cap.” 

The link disconnected, and Karma returned to the conservator with a renewed energy. Paper-pushing be damned, he missed his brothers. 

He had the conservator fixed in five minutes, and spent the rest of the night at his family’s side. 

* * * * 

“ _Tantive III_ you are cleared for landing, copy.” 

Commander Rex and Captain Noble overlooked the cyclical operations of the workers inside the traffic control center of the facility’s hangar bay. The subterranean spaceport was accessed via a massive opening in the planet’s crust a few hundred meters above. 

Resembling an Utapau sinkhole, the scar in the landscape was hidden from planetary satellites and orbiting ships by a sprawling container door, painted over as a patch of inconspicuous farmland that retracted open and shut at will. 

Inside the Dantooine sinkhole, one would find numerous hangar bays of varying shapes and sizes, able to accommodate anything from the smallest Eta-2 Actis starfighters, to the far larger CR70 corvettes, such as Bail Organa’s personal diplomatic cruiser: _Tantive III_. 

Noble craned his head up against the transparisteel of the control booth’s viewport, angling his eyes to watch the container door rumble across the landscape to reveal a twinkling night sky above. 

Descending promptly was the corvette, the _Tantive III_ , with Senator Organa presumed aboard. Cleared to dock in Bay Fourteen, the pair of clones hurried out of the booth and out to the hangar corridors. 

“You got the files ready?” Rex asked as they strolled along, his hands conjoined behind his back. 

“Of course, you know I’m timely,” Noble grinned, nudging his superior’s shoulder. 

“I hope so, Cap. Organa hardly ever shows up here in person. So this must be important to him.” 

“I can imagine it is, given it’s Jedi related,” Noble said. 

“The Imps need better security if our boys in the computer division can crack their codes and slip into the mainframes from halfway across the galaxy.” Rex laughed, slapping Noble on the back. “We did good, Noble.” 

“As long as the Senator acknowledges it.” 

“C’mon now, Cap. We both know Organa’s a reasonable man.” The two reached the outer entrance to Bay Fourteen, and they scanned in to enter. 

“Reasonable yeah, just always in a hurry it seems.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Rex assuaged his counterpart’s worries. It had been quite a long time since they had the pleasure of Bail’s presence. 

Noble was worried even the simplest mistake would have him thrown out of the operation altogether. Rex always assured him that this thinking was nonsense, and that Bail was above such petty retaliation. While he was right, the Senator _was_ a sensible man, it did little to soothe Noble’s nerves, which he blamed partly on his fear of the inevitable day on the horizon. 

The day he had to stop being a soldier. 

They entered the bay just as the shields were drawn up, and watched as the mechanic crews began refueling and tending to a structural dent on one of the ship’s relay manifolds. 

Clouds of mechanically-induced steam billowed from the stern ramp, which descended from the _Tantive_ ’s hull. The two clones stood at attention shoulder-to-shoulder on the duracrete below while the hangar crews milled about in a frenzy. 

The regal blue cloak trailing the Senator was a stark contrast to the overly white interior of the _Tantive_ ’s corridors. While he stuck out like a sore thumb, the politician was easy on the eyes, and carried a gentle demeanor. 

His simple, yet elegant Alderaanian vestments were tailored to the finest fit, from one of the most esteemed tailors in Aldera’s Lower City, known for their ethical manufacturing processes. 

The smile was genuine as Bail Organa reached the bottom of the ramp. 

Commander and Captain both saluted, postures unwavering, like true soldiers. 

“At ease, my friends. There is no need for that. It’s just me,” Bail chuckled, patting them both on the shoulder. “How are you both?” The Senator from Alderaan parted between them, and they turned to follow his pace towards the hangar entrance. 

“We’ve been busy. Productive,” Rex replied, motioning to Noble. 

“Aye, we’ve finished the report you requested and are eager to present it to you, Senator.” 

“Please, Captain, remember. You can call me Bail.” 

“Right, of course.” Noble offered a courtesy nod and they kept walking. 

“Commander Rex,” Bail began. “You may want to hold back for a minute.” He waved towards the _Tantive III_. 

“Hold back?” He began. “For wha--..” 

“ _Commander_!” A voice called from the ship. It was as potent as it was graceful. 

Rex turned immediately on his heels and looked across the hangar. 

He had first heard the same voice, eight years ago, standing against the might of a droid army on a besieged Christophsis. It had matured greatly since then. 

Ahsoka Tano met his gaze with a simple wave as she descended the _Tantive_ ’s ramp, a familiar blue and white astromech gliding beside her. 

Rex rushed back to the ship as Bail and Noble paused to watch. A smile fluttered across the senator’s face. 

They met at the bottom of the ramp. 

Rex was nearly beside himself, but offered the fiercest salute that any clone could muster. 

“Commander.” He whispered. 

“At ease, old friend,” Ahsoka said. 

It had been roughly a year since they last saw each other, with her duties as the lead Fulcrum agent taking her far and wide across the Outer Rim in search of vital intelligence, which was relayed back to Rex and the others, with not much time for breaks. 

“It’s been a while,” Rex replied. 

“Almost a year, Rex. I know,” she said. “I’ve been so busy. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop in.” 

He shook his head, silencing the talk. 

“No worries. I’ve been busy too.” The clone twisted his mouth into a lopsided smile. “At least you’re here now, and it’s a hell of a surprise. I have a lot to tell you.” 

“It’s good to see you,” she replied. 

The beeping of a droid interrupted them, and Rex had to assure the noisemaker he hadn’t forgotten about him. 

“Hey there lil’ buddy,” Rex called over to the astromech. 

R2-D2 chirped a hello, and Bail waved them over. 

“We have much to discuss,” Bail said, as the group made their way to the guest quarters. 

In the corridors that weaved their way to the central hub, they spoke amongst themselves, at times in separate conversations. 

Ahsoka leaned forward and gave Noble a friendly tap on the shoulder. 

“It’s good to see you too, Captain.” 

“Hey there Ahsoka. I hope your travels have been well,” Noble replied. 

“As well as one could hope, given the times.” 

“Trust me, I understand.” 

Bail briefly interjected to inquire upon the whereabouts of the report. 

“I had it delivered to your chambers,” Rex commented, turning to Ahsoka. “I assume you’ll need a room as well?” 

She nodded. 

“I may be here for a few days, fortunately.” 

“Glad to stop over and rest, eh?” 

“It’s good to get a break now and then.” 

“But never underestimate the value of the work you’ve done for us, Ahsoka,” Bail spoke from the front of the group. “The work you’ve been doing with intel gathering as Fulcrum is quite remarkable. I’m sorry I don’t get to meet with you often enough to tell you in person.” 

“It’s alright Bail. I do what I can to help.” 

“You do plenty. You deserve a few days rest.” 

Arriving outside the guest quarters, Bail welcomed them into the stately suite, positioned just off of the east wing of the complex. 

“Please, have a seat everyone,” he urged, moving to the conservator to find any leftover drinks from his previous visit. 

“Alderaanian wine anyone?” He offered, glancing at the unopened bottle. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” Noble cried. Bail flinched in reaction, looking at the clone in alarm. 

“Is something the matter, Captain?” 

“Oh, um.. Sorry.” Noble fidgeted, scolding himself at the random outburst. “That wine? Keep it unopened. I met someone in a cantina here who bragged about the worth of Alderaanian wine. Keep it bottled and I guarantee it’ll be worth something in a few years.” His eyes darted away from Bail quickly and back to Rex, who found the ordeal humorous. 

“Huh. All the years of collecting from our best vintners and not one had bothered to tell me this,” Bail scoffed, returning the wine to the conservator shelf. 

“How about blue milk?” He asked again. 

Rex recoiled in disgust. Ahsoka bit her tongue, concealing laughter. Noble shook his head dubiously. 

“Do you have any water, Senator?” Rex asked. 

“Yes, of course. Is water okay?” 

“Water’s great,” Ahsoka replied hurriedly, eager to get down to business. 

“Excellent.” Bail poured them each a glass, and returned to the sitting area, just beyond the door. Artoo parked himself in the corner and took a rest, circuits dropping into standby mode as the group began discussion. 

Rex, finding the hefty folder that had been left in the guest chambers, plopped it down onto the table in the center of four seats. 

“All of this?” Bail asked as Ahsoka pursed her lips in intrigue. 

“Everything was recovered from the Imperial Archives, using backchannels provided to us by the computer division.” 

“Excellent work they do over there,” Bail mused, opening the folder to the mass of documents within. 

Rex eyed Noble, as if to say: _You’re up_. 

“So,” Noble began, drawing the attention to him. “We discovered that Ossus was a world of great importance to the Jedi Order at one point in time.” 

“The site of an ancient temple, I’ve been told,” Bail added, glancing to Ahsoka. 

“You’d be correct,” Noble said, taking a few papers from the top of the stack. “The Imperial Archives don’t have much listed on Ossus, at least not for immediate view. We had to get the computer division to breach another layer of security to get into the more classified material. It was high-level.” 

“Presumably for the Emperor or some of his lackeys,” Rex inputted. 

“Precisely,” Noble said. “What once existed in that jungle is beyond anything the average citizen of the galaxy is aware of. But it was almost a thousand years ago. Times were different, it was far easier to conceal the temple with existing technologies then.” 

“So you’re saying, the advancements in technology during the Republic era have left the planet ripe for plunder?” Bail asked, his eyes growing more curious as he looked through the mockup renderings of the old temple. 

“Well, one could imagine so, but it doesn’t appear to be that way, yet. What happened a few weeks ago seems to be an isolated incident, perpetrated by the Empire itself.” 

“Did the Emperor directly order this?” Ahsoka finally cut in, leaning back in the chair with her legs crossed. 

“Not that we’re aware of,” Noble replied. “It looks to have been orchestrated and carried out by the Fourth Fleet of the Colonies Sector, according to Imperial tracking and navigation records, which was also supplied by the wonderful men and women in our computer division.” 

Bail grew quiet, drawing a hand to his chin, reminiscent of a Jedi he knew. 

“The _Fourth_ Fleet?” Ahsoka asked. “Are you _sure_?” 

Bail looked at her apprehensively, but she didn’t meet his gaze, remaining focused on Noble. 

“It appears so,” Noble said. 

Ahsoka pushed herself up from the chair, pacing behind it in concern as Artoo slowly came to life behind her. He beeped at her, and she shook her head. 

“Not now, Artoo, keep resting. I’m okay.” 

The droid obliged, lights powering down once again. 

Ahsoka looked at Bail, suddenly frustrated. 

“You told me she was not a _threat_.” 

“My intelligence.. _our_ intelligence deemed her a non-issue. But that was a year ago.” 

“Things have changed then,” Ahsoka said. 

“It seems so.” Bail brought his hands together and sat up with quick poise, his mind racing. 

“We couldn’t get any additional info on the Fourth,” Rex said after a brief silence. “Data’s locked beyond what we could.. uh.. break through.” He glanced up at Noble apologetically, who looked back at him in confusion. 

_Why does he look sorry?_

“Not surprised. The Emperor probably keeps that one locked tight,” Bail said. 

“Why?” Noble asked, looking between the Senator and the Jedi. 

Bail looked at Rex, who subtly nodded in agreement. 

“We’ll discuss this after the brief.” Rex began. 

The Captain turned again to his clone companion. 

“Why not now?” Noble asked again. 

“Because I need you to stay focused. We can discuss the matters of the Fourth Fleet afterward. Right now, I need a debriefing on Ossus.” Bail interrupted. 

“ _We_ need a debriefing on Ossus,” Ahsoka said, halting her pace to rest against the back of the chair, closing her eyes for a moment. 

Rex examined his old friend. 

“This project was for you?” He asked. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t guess sooner, when Bail told you it was about the Jedi.” She smirked beneath the focus of her on-the-fly meditation. 

“I had a hunch,” Rex returned. 

Noble took a sharp inhale and prepared to move on. 

“Let’s continue,” he said. 

Ahsoka, eyes opening, watched him as he did so. 

The clone took a gulp of water and grabbed a few more papers from the folder. 

“What we dug up on Ossus is mostly old history, background information, archaeological disappointments, nothing truly substantial, until we went up a level in clearance.” 

“And what did you find?” Bail inquired. 

“Apparently Ossus was the site of the _first_ Jedi Temple. It’s been debated which planet hosted the first, however, many scholars on the Core Worlds agree it was here. But the Jedi left it a few hundred years after construction.” 

“Why?” 

“It seems something happened there, around eight-hundred years ago. An event. Something massive in scale. It doesn’t appear to be a detonation or a natural event, but something else. Induced by other forces entirely. The entire Temple and surrounding ecosystem were disrupted, but in the time since, the land has regrown.” 

_Something of power_. Ahsoka thought, attentive as ever. 

“The ancient Jedi revered the site as a place of consecrated ground. Holy, if you will,” Noble continued in earnest. “The Jedi had enemies during this time period, who wielded lightsabers of crimson, and produced unholy energies. Not unlike Count Dooku during the war.” 

“The Sith,” Ahsoka whispered. Noble didn’t hear her. 

“A group of these enemies attempted to desecrate the ground during a conflict, a battle perhaps. It left a massive rift in the Temple’s.. _energy_ , you could say.. that could not be removed by the Jedi. Eventually, they fled, but the datacrons recovered from the Temple on Coruscant don’t cover exactly the rest of the details.” 

“How is all of this information in the _Imperial Archives_?” Bail paused him to ask. 

“It seems the Emperor ordered his archivists to pillage the Jedi Temple for knowledge, information -- anything valuable that the High Council hid away -- and add it to a growing, yet confidential library for high-level access only. We’re talking.. basically Moffs and higher. Our geniuses in computers really pulled off a miracle in getting this access for us.” 

“Explains how the Fourth Fleet was able to get a hold of this information,” Ahsoka said. “They’re led by a Moff. How come they got to it before the Emperor did?” 

“We have no idea. It’s not a stretch to think that he already knew this existed, had he done his own research,” Rex chimed in. “Or maybe _he_ ordered them to loot the Temple.” 

“So what is it that they took?” Ahsoka asked. “I was able to decipher some of the runes with the help of a friend,” her eyes flickered to Noble. “But it didn’t give me any additional hints as to what it was. All I know is that it was imprisoned, and powerful.” 

“We believe it was a being. A living being,” Rex said. “I’m _far_ from an expert on all of this, but the existing datacrons in the Archives point to the existence of a being within the Force that ended the battle and was imprisoned. But it didn’t sound entirely natural. Everything that happened after, we’re in the dark about.” 

Noble nodded in agreement before he hopped back into the fray. 

“Right. _Something_ happened during that conflict. Whatever happened, resulted in this thing being stored in the vaults of the temple. However, it left an.. _unnatural_ presence that bothered the Jedi to the point that they decided to relocate. I imagine it was something they couldn’t control, which is rather unsettling, considering the power of the Jedi.” 

For a brief moment, Noble thought to Orren, and then to Plo Koon, before settling back on Ahsoka. They were truly a power to be reckoned with, until they lost everything. 

He could relate. 

Bail glanced to Ahsoka, who was already looking at him. 

“Do you think that the Jedi High Council was aware of this before.. Sixty-Six?” 

“If the Emperor took this from our holocrons and data archives, then I’m sure they were. But it was probably known only to those on the Council, most likely in one of the vaults. They never taught it to anyone or made it common knowledge. I was never aware of this,” she told him distastefully. . 

_Yet another secret the Council kept. Typical._ Ahsoka thought to herself. 

She continued. “Whatever it is, it was kept secret for a reason. Probably because of its power. The runes on the Temple floor were newer than the ones elsewhere in the structure. They read as a warning, but said whatever it was down there had the power of a unified Force. Light and Dark sides.” 

“This is strange indeed,” Bail posited. “The Jedi seemed to have been keeping many secrets of their own. It’s imperative that we investigate further to avoid letting the Emperor take advantage of this.” 

“Now please, can we discuss these other matters.. this Fourth Fleet? Who are they?” Noble asked, tension dancing between his syllables. 

The other three made passing glances at each other. Bail pinched the bridge of his nose as he tossed an allowing nod towards Rex. 

“You told me when you were at Quermia, you were the only survivors, right? The _only_ survivors?” Rex asked the Captain. 

Noble gave an affirmative glance. 

“That’s all we were aware of. We lost the other half of the landing team in the city, and half of our unit was killed.” He shifted from quizzical to nervous almost instantly. 

“And the fleet?” Bail jumped in. 

“Destroyed, according to our scout sniper.” Noble’s voice quivered slightly. 

“It seems he was late to the party in whatever he saw,” Rex said. 

“What do you mean?” Noble sat back down. 

“Your old admiral. Remember her?” Rex asked. 

“Vantu.. yes.” Noble said. Ahsoka looked worried upon hearing the name. 

“Well..” Rex began, not able to find the words, he stumbled over his thoughts. Ahsoka decided to help him out. 

“ _Vantu_ is still alive and well,” she said, resting her hands on the chair’s backing and leaning forward, continuing on. “She’s a Moff in the Colonies Sector, and wields a vast amount of power in the Imperial arsenal.” 

Noble stared wide eyed at her, but she persisted in her explanation. 

“After the war, she gained favor with the Emperor, and received a personal detachment of troops from him, to hunt Jedi as freely as she chooses. She tried tracking me for over a year, but I shook her off.” 

“We’ve learned she carries a personal vendetta against Jedi, but we aren’t sure why,” Bail said. 

“Vantu’s.. alive?” Noble murmured. 

“That’s right, trooper.” Rex said, gripping Noble’s shoulder to keep him focused. 

But his mind wandered. 

_She left us? To die? So she could run away? Could that explain her final transmission to the surface?_

The Captain was flustered, and Bail heeded Noble’s body language as he shook off Rex’s hand. 

“Captain. Calm down. Listen to m--..” the Senator was interrupted. 

“She _abandoned_ us!? And nobody bothered to tell me she was still alive, slinking around out there like a cave rat while half of my men are _dead_?” 

Ahsoka’s eyes closed as she dived into deep thought. Rex looked upset, and Bail shifted to a troubled demeanor. 

“Why was this hidden from me? From _us_? The rest of my squad? One of whom still lives on this planet! Why weren’t we _told_!? It’s been _five years_!” 

“Because we know you’d react this way. Do not make it personal, Captain Noble.” Bail pressed. “I’m sorry I kept this from you, it was never done in ill will, it was to hopefully spare you more pains of the war.” 

“How else did you expect me to react?” Noble found himself exclaiming. 

"Captain," Ahsoka began. "I say this with sincerity. Bail Organa and Commander Rex are two of the finest men I know. Do not think less of them for this. Secrets are not acceptable, and I hope they will learn from this." 

Noble sighed. 

“I know.. they both are.” He bit the inside of his lip in agitation. “I just can’t get past the _sting_ , knowing now that she left us to _die_.” 

“She was looking out for herself, fight or flight perhaps. There are many others like her in the Imperial chain of command,” Bail insisted. “What only matters now is that _you_ are alive, and here with us now, free of the slavery that seems to have been imposed on your fellow troopers.” 

“Suppose you’re right,” Noble frowned, eyes reaching the floor. His despondency had fallen to new levels, bolstered by his copious and rather monotonous paperpushing, and now this. 

Rex put his arm around his friend and tried to cheer him up. 

“Let’s pay Karma a visit tomorrow, yeah? We can talk, drink a bit. Have some fun. Maybe it’ll help.” 

“Thanks, brother,” Noble said, barely audible. He suddenly had a _lot_ to tell Karma. 

“You’ve both done fine work here. Thanks to the efforts of you both, as well as the computer division, we now have a clearer picture as to what the relevance of this planet is to the Empire,” Bail said. “I might add that the Imperial Security Bureau is _far_ too lax in letting a few hackers slip under their radar. We should take full advantage of this situation.” 

Rex chuckled. 

“You read my mind, sir.” 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I--..” Bail was interrupted by the ringing of Rex’s personal comlink. He stood and watched the clone receive the communication. 

“This is Rex…. Okay…. Yeah…. I’ll be right there.” 

“Is there a problem, Commander?” Bail asked. 

“Unidentified craft requesting to land in our private hangar. Most visitors aren’t aware that a hangar exists out here, could be a security issue.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Noble said, joining the Commander as he made for the door. He had a few words he wanted to exchange with Rex anyway. 

Ahsoka watched them go as Bail took a sip of water. 

The Jedi and the Senator met each other’s glances once again as the clones left. 

“Well _that_ went well,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. 

“What did you expect, Ahsoka? I knew that was coming.” 

“His reaction was justified though. I’d feel the same if someone I thought dead turned out to be alive _and_ an enemy.” 

Bail shifted uneasily at the comment, and looked at his chronometer. 

“What is it?” She asked hesitantly. 

“Ask me again sometime,” he said with a small smile. “I’m quite tired from today’s work. Would you excuse me?” 

“Sure,” Ahsoka obliged, waking Artoo from his slumber. 

“Ahsoka?” Bail felt the need for a final question. 

“Yes?” 

“How was Orren?” 

Ahsoka fell deathly quiet, a look of discouragement washing over her. 

“Is it that bad?” He asked with a smirk. 

“I don’t think he’s ever planning on leaving that planet, Bail. I really don’t.” Her downtrodden mood was obvious. 

“It’s a shame. We could use him.” The Senator looked to his feet, twirling the water in his glass. 

“I haven’t given up on trying, but right now our focus is Vantu.” 

Bail only nodded. 

“Right. Well, find yourself a room and rest up. This time tomorrow we’ll have a more formal briefing,” he replied. 

Ahsoka offered a slight bow before the Senator, who returned the gesture kindly. 

With Artoo at her side, she departed the chamber. 

* * * * 

“Why’d you keep this from me, Rex?” Noble asked. 

The typical slog to the hangar bay from the east wing felt even longer than usual as he interrogated his friend. 

“I didn’t _want_ to, Cap. Bail told me explicitly to stay quiet until we learned more about her motives.” 

“So it’s Organa’s fault then.” 

“Don’t hold this against him, he was just trying to do right by you Noble, that’s all.” Rex shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way though.” 

“Sounds like she’s become a real piece of work,” Noble said. 

“You have _no idea_ ,” Rex mumbled. “If Ahsoka’s intel is to be believed, your old admiral is ruthless, and carries this weird hatred for the Jedi.” 

“Yeah, that part confused me.” 

“I can’t tell you why, none of us can. She just hates ‘em. Maybe she bought into the Emperor’s lies about the whole thing. Traitors and what not.” Rex thought of Anakin, presumed dead in Order 66. Some days he missed his General more than others. 

Today was one of those days. 

_He would_ never _betray the Republic_ , the clone reassured himself, carrying on. 

“Maybe she did, honestly.” Noble wondered aloud as they trekked towards the traffic control center, yet again. 

“Though I will say, it’s a bit _much_ for someone of her rank.” Rex shrugged. “We haven’t encountered any other leader in the chain of command with such a deep disliking of the old generals.” 

“Time may tell,” Noble said stoically. 

Sweeping into the traffic control booth, Rex oversaw the incoming ship as one of the operators turned to address him. 

“It’s unidentified, carries no active transponder. It’s a Lancer-class, looks to be the pursuit variation, Mandalorian produced.” 

“Have they said anything?” Rex asked. 

“Nothing sir. But they sent a coded request to land specifically _here_.” 

Rex looked to Noble, who gave him a small nod in urging. 

“Very well. Can’t take the chance. Raise the turbolasers. Prepare to fire on my mark.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

Far above the compound, four turbolaser batteries rose from the dust-swept plains, taking aim at the Lancer craft which hovered just above the hangar’s container door, against the black of night. 

“Fire on my mark.” Rex raised his fist in countdown. “Five. Four. Three..” 

One of the comlink channels garbled and sputtered. 

“Two.” 

“Dantooine base do you _copy_? Is anyone there? Requesting permission to land, my only available code is Gale. Does anyone copy? My code is _Gale_!” 

Rex froze for a moment, holding on the fire order. 

“Belay that!” Noble interrupted, seizing on the moment. “Lower the turbolasers! Let him land!” 

“What?” The operator asked. 

Noble turned back to his friend in a hurry, and his eyes pleaded. He knew something Rex didn’t. 

“Listen to him, lower them!” Rex said, shaking his head. “You’d better be right about this.” 

“Trust me, I _know_ that code.” Noble smiled in what seemed like the first time in hours, perhaps even days. 

“Ship coded Gale, you are cleared to land in Bay Four, copy,” the operator replied. 

The two clones rushed down to the designated bay, as the container door lumbered open and gave way to the downward drop of the Lancer craft. 

Easing its way into the bay, it rotated around to initiate docking procedures. As the typical rear-vent smoke poured out from the exhaust manifolds, the ship came to a rest on the duracrete and began lowering its ramp. 

Noble stood eagerly at the precipice of the safety zone, Rex lingered a few paces behind him, leaning against a stack of crates, hand brazenly flirting with his sidearm. 

He wouldn’t need it though. 

As the smoke rushed forth, and the ramp fell slowly, they both looked up into the ship’s interior, seeing only one figure. 

A single clone trooper, dressed in full uniform, stood at the pinnacle of the ramp, right hand hovering at his temple in salute. 

“Permission to disembark, sir?” The trooper’s vocalizer spoke. 

Noble saluted in response, drawing both boots to his personal center of gravity. He beamed, as his mood had almost completely flipped, having recognized the scarred and worn armor of a friend. 

The Captain’s response was short, but plenty. 

“Permission granted, Dynamo.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! 
> 
> This is an **important** note. So, characters are starting to come together. This chapter basically marks the end of the individual plotlines. I have the next two chapters written, and of course I've had the entire third act planned since the beginning basically, I just had to get there. More reunions on the way. I found it difficult to write them, because they're emotional, but I don't like writing cheesy emotion, so I had to keep it relatively simple. You can take your own creative freedom in imagining certain reunions.
> 
> So from here on out, the story will be following the single overarching plotline, there won't be very many diversions anymore.


	18. Deliberations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions are made to take a stand.

**XVIII**

* * * * 

Dantooine -- 14 BBY 

The first step down the ramp was the hardest. 

After the second, it got easier. 

Dynamo plodded down the loading ramp to the _Paragon_ , which lay docked in temporary stasis in Bay Four of Bail Organa’s Dantooine facility. 

Noble stood eagerly at the base of the decline, awaiting the homecoming of his brother. 

It had been five years. 

Five years of attempting to find a place in the galaxy, struggling to discover their purpose, to move on and forge a new life. It was far harder than either of them had wagered on. 

Quermia seemed like an eternity ago. 

Dynamo reached his old Captain with a hesitant pause, as the former unlocked and removed his helmet. Noble found his eyes welling with a few tears. Today had been a wild ride of revelation and reunion, but this had topped it off in a way not even _he_ expected. 

He allowed the tears, for his own sake. 

“Reporting for duty, sir.” Dynamo mumbled, a small smile on his bronzed face. He hadn’t changed in the slightest in their years apart. 

The two shook hands fiercely, drawing into a brief but powerful embrace. 

Noble nodded assuredly into his friend’s shoulder. 

“You sure like to make an entrance.” Noble glanced at the _Paragon_ as they broke off their hug. “You were almost shot down. Should’ve warned us ahead of time.” 

Dynamo shook his head. 

“Our comms array was damaged.” 

“You take an asteroid field?” Noble smirked. 

The trooper cocked his head to one side with a chuckle. 

“Not exactly, brother.” 

“Is everything okay? This is so sudden, I never expected to see you again, much less.. _in uniform_ ,” Noble looked him over, rather impressed at the upkeep of the armor. 

“It’s urgent, unfortunately.” Dynamo said, pointing back to the ship. “I have two friends onboard, they may need some fuel, but they’re bunking on the ship for the night till the sun’s up. Wanted to lay low. Can you help them?” 

“Sure thing,” Noble said, ushering a few repair droids over with a refueling tube in tow. “Get ‘em straightened out,” he pressed. 

The droids obliged, and wildly hopped over to the fuel pump on the starboard engine of the _Paragon_ , while the clones left the ship behind. 

“We’d better sit down somewhere. C’mon.” Noble said. 

They approached Rex, who was still standing against the hangar storage crates. His hand was no longer near the sidearm on his waist, but eyed the pair as they moseyed up. 

“Old squadmate?” He asked Noble tentatively. 

“404th’s Gale Squad, born and bred.” Noble replied. 

“We met before. Once. It was short,” Dynamo said to Rex. 

“You were the one who left in a hurry? The asshole..?” The Commander asked coyly. 

“That would be Chuckles,” Noble interrupted, who looked flustered at the question. 

“Ah. Okay. You were the one who never spoke much?” He asked again. 

“That’s Fix.” Dynamo said, holding back his laughter. 

“You weren’t the one wanting to find a woman to impregnate were you?” 

Noble scoffed, rolling his eyes. He knew Rex was teasing. 

“That’s Karm--..” Dynamo began. 

“No worries, trooper, I’m just pulling your strings a bit.” Rex beamed, clapping Dynamo on the back. “Glad to see ya. But tell me, which one _were you_ again?” 

Dynamo took a moment, thinking of the best way to explain himself. 

“I talk an average amount, and I enjoy big guns.” The friendly smile followed a crooked notch into a smirk. 

“ _Big guns_?” Rex exclaimed, a faux sense of excitement washed over him. Noble knew where this was going, and covered his face with his palm. 

Rex looked as if he was about to point to his groin, when Noble jumped in. 

“ _No, no_ , that’s enough. He isn’t interested in your jokes right now, _Rex_.” Noble seized Dynamo by the shoulder and they walked on, leaving Rex with a pearly grin smashed across his face. 

“Nothin’ like a little humor in these dark times, right Captain?” He called after them. 

Noble shook his head as they continued towards the exit. 

“I’m retirin’ early for the night!” He shouted early for Rex. “If you need me, give me a beep, or feel free to come by. I’m sure you know where I’m headed!” 

“Sure thing,” Rex said to himself. _I hope my joke wasn’t_ that _bad._

Commander Rex had grown a bit looser after his departure from the 501st Legion, and allowed some of the more crude influences of his old troopers shine through his demeanor from time to time. 

Perhaps it was his way of coping. Or maybe it was his way of remembering those he had lost. He never spoke on it. 

Standing alone in the hangar, he watched them go, and turned to the _Paragon_ , expression growing cautious. 

“Let’s see where you came from,” he muttered. 

* * * * 

“Is Karma still here?” Dynamo inquired as they walked on. 

“He lives in town, retired a few years back.” 

“Retired, huh? Guess he was right.” 

“About what?” Noble asked. 

“Told me and Fix that he wanted to settle down, try it out. Bastard actually did it.” 

Noble chuckled. 

“Wait till you see what _else_ he did.” 

“Are we going to see him?” Dynamo found himself asking. 

Noble hesitated, then found his words again. 

“Not right now.” 

“Why?” 

Dynamo heard a sigh from his Captain. 

“It’s late, Dy. Your arrival is a big deal. We gotta sort things out first before we get him involved.” 

“Alright.” 

They reached Noble’s personal quarters, and began the long process of unpacking everything that had been happening -- or not happening -- in their respective lives. 

Noble’s recordkeeping and relative isolation, his friendship with Rex, their end-of-week meetups with Karma, and anything else of note from Dantooine. 

On Dynamo’s end, his story grew long-winded as the night wore on. Finding Jol and Kya’s operation, meeting Al, their bacta running exploits, and the recent escapade on Naboo, and later with Dyz. 

Noble watched Dynamo’s eyes light up like the blaze of a supernova while talking about his new profession. The passion behind it, the empathy, struck Noble at his core. He listened to the words, and felt lost in his own conscience for a spell. 

_Dynamo had found what he loved._ But had Noble? 

As Dynamo continued, Noble pondered on it further. 

_So why did he come back_? 

He didn’t need to wait long to find out. Dynamo had apparently gauged that moment as the right one to spring his news. 

“Cap,” Dynamo began. “There’s a reason why I’m here. It’s not a good one, either.” 

Noble tensed a bit, his fingers squirming between each other in apprehension. He decided to get it over with now. 

“I don’t want to spoil your visit, Dy, but I have some bad news as well.” 

“Who’s going first here?” 

Noble shrugged, offering a gesture to his friend to oblige the first-go. 

“Alright,” Dynamo said. “You might not take well to this.” 

“Just get it over with,” Noble urged. 

“Admiral Vantu is alive, Cap. She left us for dead at Quermia, she’s a Moff now. She’s got plans, not good ones. Something has to be done.” 

Noble shook his head, double-taking. 

“ _What_?” 

“I know, it’s difficult to process. I’m sure it’ll be harder for Karma to hear given he thought he saw them killed.” 

“No. I mean.. you know too?” Noble asked. 

“What do you mean?” Dynamo’s eyebrows carved a higher path into his skin out of sheer curiosity. 

“I know she’s alive, Dy. We were briefed on it today.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Small galaxy?” 

Dynamo looked flabbergasted. 

“I can’t believe it. We discover this truth at nearly the same time. It has to be a coincidence, right?” 

“Probably. She’s been making more moves lately, it was bound to have happened.” 

“What do we do, Cap? She’s up to something bad, we ran into her on Thyferra and gathered a bit about what she’s doing.” Dynamo blinked, a pause coming between them. “She had one of our runners killed and fled the system with her prize, that _we_ fetched for her, unknowingly.” 

“You might need to tell this to the others, not just me. I’m not sure what information you have,” Noble said quickly. 

“I know..” 

“Are you okay, Dy?” Noble asked. 

“It’s just too much, Noble. I wanna live a life without this shit haunting me. But I can’t get Quermia out of my head. Jabiim. All of it. The war. It won’t let me _move on_. If she hadn’t left us for dead, and tried to save us, maybe we’d _all_ be alive.” 

“But we’d be chipped still.” Noble remembered. He then recalled his outburst with Senator Organa, and realized that if she hadn’t left them on Quermia, they’d likely still be slaves of the Empire. Silently, he swore for his rash behavior. 

“That’s true. Can we really blame her then? Am I here for nothing?” 

“So you just came here to warn me about her?” 

“She’s not twiddling her thumbs up there, Cap, she’s up to something. I just _know_ it’s not good. I’m not necessarily blaming her for what happened to us. But maybe cleaning her up will give me something. _Something_.” Dynamo frowned. “This isn’t like going after a typical Moff for just being a top-tier jackass. I think she’s moving apart from the rest of the Empire. That makes her dangerous.” 

“You just want _closure_ , Dy. Stopping her supposed plans won’t give you closure for the war, even if we’re pissed she ditched us.” Noble pressed on as the devil’s advocate, eager to find the reasoning for Dynamo’s pursuit of the woman. He never gave any hints that _he himself_ threw a tantrum when he learned of her supposed survival. 

Noble did know more than he let on, but held off on mentioning Ossus. He knew Dynamo was making a fair enough point, as he often did, during the war. He never disagreed with him, but was searching thoroughly for the man’s purpose. 

“I just need something, Cap. It was ripped away from us. All of it. I need something. A victory. Finality. You know? I just can’t explain it.” Dynamo looked away, grimacing. His eyes found the floor, and they held there for some time. 

“I know, brother. I think about it all the time,” Noble responded. “Let’s talk with the others?” 

“I suppose we have to. Can’t do this alone.” 

“No. We can’t.” 

“So we tell the others then?” Dynamo finally looked at his former commanding officer, his stare as determined as the flow of magma from an eruption. 

“We have to.” Noble said. “We’ll need help.” 

Dynamo sighed. He knew he would be here for a while. 

* * * * 

In the fourth hangar bay of the intelligence facility, Commander Rex stood -- borderline irate -- at the base of the _Paragon_ ’s loading ramp, sidearm in one hand as two figures stood in defiance above him. 

“I’m telling you, it _wasn’t us_!” One of them shouted. 

“It doesn’t matter! What matters is you were _traced_!” Rex fired back. 

“Commander. What’s the issue here?” Noble and his trooper flanked Rex promptly. 

Rex eyed Dynamo up and down before holding out a small durasteel device with his free hand. The red flasher had been silenced, but the small lens on the corner of the oval-shape appeared intact. 

“What’s this?” Noble asked. 

“ _This_ is a homing beacon, with an affixed camera. Looks like a new model.” Rex’s face shrunk in disgust. “He came here to trap you, Captain.” 

Noble looked at Dynamo, his eyes hardened. 

“Dy? What is this?” He asked suddenly. 

“I swear to you both. I did _not_ know that was onboard.” Dynamo looked flustered, as if caught in a scheme. 

Rex kept his suspicion intact, diverting his attention back to the women on the ship. 

Dynamo looked to them for assurance. 

“Al!” He shouted. “What is this!?” 

“We don’t _know_ , Dy. It was on the starboard hull near the fuel port. Your buddy here found it and blamed us for setting this up.” 

Dynamo shook his head. 

“Listen, Rex. This isn’t a trap. I think I know what this is.” 

“You better do some talking fast then.” 

“I think it was Vantu.” 

Rex looked back at Noble, aghast at the words. 

“You told him?” Rex asked. 

“No, matter of fact, he told _me_.” Noble said. 

Rex stared at them, quiet as a Lothal deer mouse. 

Noble’s hand found Dynamo’s shoulder. 

“I believe you.” He said. 

“We all need a formal briefing on this. Maybe Dy can fill in some of the gaps,” Noble said. “Trust me, Rex, we can trust him on this.” 

“You need to get Karma involved, Noble. You know he’d want in on this,” Dy pushed. 

“He’s a family man now. He shouldn’t be in this world.” Noble overlooked the fact that Karma had told him earlier that he wanted to return to duty. The Captain assumed it was merely for paperwork assignments and nothing more. But he had to remind himself that he knew Karma better than that. 

_Should we tell him this_? 

Karma _was_ the one who saw the fleet in tatters. Noble and Dynamo both knew this. They remembered how shaken he was when he entered the throne room of the palace. To tell him that the survivors fled rather than fight to save the surface teams could have too deep of an impact on him. 

While he never saw it, Noble pictured himself in Karma’s shoes. 

_Flame trails licked the atmosphere, descending in accelerating plumes of debris and smoke, enveloped by the upper-level clouds._

_He saw nothing but the echoes of war. The faint remnants of what_ was _, not what existed._

_They were gone. Destroyed. Obliterated. They had served the Republic well._

_All of them._

_Now it was time for the boys on the ground to do the same._

_Stepping into the Quermian palace, the blaster fire rang out through the sacred halls._

_He was closing in on his squads. The news was urgent._

_They were alone on the planet._ _Everyone was dead, massacred by an onslaught of droids and turbolaser salvos. A surprise wave of reinforcements._

While Noble’s mind drifted further, Rex accompanied Dynamo to Kya and Al’s place at the ship’s ramp. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t sweep the ship.” Dynamo told them. 

“Did _she_ plant that beacon?” Kya asked. 

“She had to. She was the only one who could have. It wasn’t there when we reached Naboo, and after Thyferra they left in the same hangar we arrived in.” 

“You _faced_ Moff Vantu?” Rex jumped in. 

“Sort of. We did what we could. She shorted us our owed money, normally we just run bacta, but she hired us to bring her a bacta scientist for a reward. Enough credits that could help us get our lives back on track.” 

“Sounds like her. Better be glad you made it out of there, I wouldn’t go picking a fight one-on-one with Vantu,” Rex admonished. 

“She had one of our own killed,” Kya spoke up. Rex looked at her. 

“Who’s this?” He asked Dynamo. Noble finally came over, still in his own thoughts as the others mingled. 

“One of the runners who’s helped me find my footing. I owe everything to these two.” Dynamo said, hints of a smile developing on his face. “This one is Al, and that’s Kya.” 

They nodded cautiously to Rex, who -- just a few minutes ago -- was accusing them of espionage. 

“Sorry about before. Didn’t know you had a run-in with Vantu.” Rex apologized. “Who was it you lost?” 

“His name was Jol. One of Vantu’s Purges collapsed his airways and left him for dead in the brawl.” Kya muttered. Al wrapped an arm around her in comfort. 

“Purges?” Rex looked bewildered. 

“I’ll explain soon,” Dynamo broke in. “I think we should _all_ sit down and debrief on this.” 

“Dy.” Al whispered. He looked at her. “We can’t stay long. We’re just here to drop you off.” 

The clone’s dejected expression told her everything she needed to know. She planted a soft kiss on his forehead. 

“We can help you get your story straight, but we really have to keep moving. I don’t want to risk the safety of everyone here because of our ship,” Kya said gingerly. She hustled back into the _Paragon_ for more suitable gear, and Al followed. 

Dynamo watched them go, lingering on Al. 

“Dy?” Noble finally spoke up. 

“Yeah?” 

“Come with me, we need to fetch the Senator.” 

Rex followed the two clones as they made haste for the facility’s corridors. Leading the way, Dynamo’s dispirited countenance spoke volumes to his evolving state of mind. 

It had already been a long day, and the dawn had only just broken through. 

* * * * 

After perhaps the longest hour of their lives, the group had assembled in one of the facility’s main conference rooms, with a security door sealed. A sprawling semicircle of a table made up much of the room’s interior, and the participants of the briefing took seats around it accordingly. 

Seated in a clockwise order was: Bail, Ahsoka, a space for R2, Rex, Noble, Dynamo, Al, Kya, and Captain Antilles at the far side. A deactivated protocol droid remained in the corner for necessary transcribing of the meeting’s details, but Bail had felt it wouldn’t be necessary, and powered it down. 

“I’m sorry to hear you felt the urge to come on such short notice, Lieutenant,” Bail spoke to Dynamo. “I also regret to hear that you lost a friend during the encounter with the Moff. It pains me to know she has been taking lives.” 

“The entire Empire has been taking lives,” Kya added. Bail looked at her with a soft nod and continued. 

“We’re all here because we need to get the record straight and prepare any potential counter moves, since she may be aware of our presence here.” 

He waved to the broken homing beacon at the center of the table, frayed wires ejected from the frame, pointed towards the intelligence folder on Ossus, which rested beside it. 

Bail continued. “Before we reveal the extent of our information, I’d like to request that you fill us in on what happened in your encounter, Lieutenant.” 

Dynamo paused at his former title, but ushered the facts forward. 

“We were initially hired by a bacta lord from Thyferra to fetch a target from Naboo. We did it. Job was done. Returned him to our employer, till he revealed someone actually employed _him_. A Venator shows up in the atmosphere and a few minutes later, she walks in with an entourage of troops.” 

The audience watched him convey the events of the day, fascinated and compelled, but utterly horrified as he described the actions leading to Jol’s death and his own incapacitation. 

Kya had to look away, muscling up a sense of composure. Ahsoka took notice and offered a sympathetic glance to her, catching onto the woman’s connection to the deceased. 

“A _Venator_?” Bail asks with vigor. “You’re sure of this?” 

“Positive.” Dynamo said. “I’d recognize the wedge anywhere.” 

“It’s possible she still uses her flagship.” Bail toyed with the idea. 

“According to our contact on Thyferra, she does. Our old ship, the _Prosecutor_.” 

Noble twitched a bit upon hearing the name, but listened on without a word. The _Prosecutor_ had become a second home to him, facing it as an enemy would be difficult to swallow, especially for the clones. 

“Let me see here,” Rex took the folder on the table and flipped through it. “Aha. Yeah. The _Prosecutor_ leads the Fourth Fleet. He’s right. That’s the ship alright.” 

Noble sighed. 

“You alright, Cap?” Dynamo shot over to his former commanding officer. 

"Just wondering what could've been done had I been told this information sooner." 

Bail looked displeased. Ahsoka spoke first. 

"Noble. Had I known Bail was keeping this from you.." she shot him a glare of disapproval. "I would have told you myself. I had no idea Vantu was your superior. I assumed she was just another cog in the Imperial machine with an inflated ego." 

Bail looked down at his hands which were resting in his lap. 

"We don't keep secrets, Bail. We can't afford to. The Jedi did it. The Chancellor did it. We cannot make those mistakes." Ahsoka reiterated. 

"I understand. Captain, you have my full apology. It won't happen again." The Senator said. 

Noble only nodded in acknowledgment. 

"What did she say to you while she was on Thyferra, Dynamo?" Ahsoka asked, moving back on topic. 

“Well, she ranted a bit about what she planned to do with the doctor we kidnapped. Said it had something to do with the Jedi.” 

Ahsoka’s expression took a turn for the worse. Bail glanced her way and she looked back at him nervously. 

“She has it then.” Ahsoka confirmed to the Senator. 

“The asset from Ossus?” He asked grimly. 

She only nodded. 

“What asset?” Dynamo asked. 

Bail took a deep breath, mulling over whether he should tell the clone or not. But given the circumstances, he needed to tell him. 

“Moff Vantu stole something from the Jedi on Ossus. It seems likely now that she will be using that doctor of yours to perform work on it. You said he worked with bacta?” 

“Bacta, that’s right.” 

Bail grew unsettled. 

“What is it?” 

“Rex?” The Senator looked across the table to his loyal commander. “You said you suspected the stolen artifact to not be an item, but a _being_ , correct?” 

“Yes sir, that’s what we believed,” he motioned to Noble, who silently agreed, a hand finding his chin in deliberation. 

“This seems to connect perfectly then,” Ahsoka said, her eyes scanning the papers on Ossus, before darting to the homing beacon. 

“She’s using this bacta scientist to re-energize whatever it is she stole, to use it.” 

“For what?” Dynamo asked, finding Al’s hand under the table. 

“To use against the remaining Jedi, I imagine.” Came the Togruta’s answer. 

“ _Great_ , so we just helped a power-hungry Moff by giving her the battery to a weapon,” Kya sneered. “Brilliant.” 

“Don’t blame yourselves, you weren’t aware of her duplicity, let alone her scheme, until long after you did the job. It’s a misfortune, but one easily forgiven, at least by me,” Bail offered to her. 

She could barely smile at him, but did so with what little energy she could muster. 

“This makes her a threat then. Not just to the Jedi, but to anyone in her sector, perhaps the Empire’s power structure.” Ahsoka said. “I can’t imagine Emperor Palpatine would be too happy to hear a Moff is using a Force-sensitive weapon in her own independence.” 

“She could end up with enemies on both sides,” Bail added with affirmation. 

“Which could backfire on her.” 

“Precisely.” 

The Senator and the Jedi had reached a consensus long before anyone else in the room was able to figure out what they meant. Rex was most likely the first to pick up on it. 

“So you’re saying,” the Commander spoke slowly, “that if she’s defying the Emperor by doing this under his nose, she’d face the Empire as a consequence?” 

“Yes, that’s what we’re thinking Rex. Good observation.” She produced an ever-familiar smile, which he returned. 

“So what do we do? Just let the two sides duke it out, _if_ we’re even right about this?” Dynamo asked. 

“Do _not_ underestimate the Emperor, I’m sure he’s aware of most Force-sensitive objects or beings in the galaxy as is, especially one hidden at an old Jedi site, which this was. If she intends to keep it and use it for _herself_ , and not hand it over to him, there could be conflict.” Ahsoka responded. 

“I suggest we stay low and observe the situation as it unfolds. I recommend Ahsoka stays here,” Bail urged. “For your own safety, from whatever it is she may have in her possession now.” 

Ahsoka agreed. 

“I could use a few more days off anyways,” she quipped. 

“So is that it?” Kya interjected. “The only man I ever loved was killed by one of her pets and we’re just gonna let her walk away?” Her cheeks were flushed, and her tone was rising. Al tried soothing her, but to no avail. “No. Dy told me you all had the resources to do something about her. To _really_ do something. What’s the point of this whole operation if you don’t fight back against the oppressors? You scurry around the light, rather than stand in it. I’m just one bacta runner, you’re an entire organization. _Act like it_!” 

With that, she stormed from the room, Al regretfully watched her as she disappeared. She looked at Dynamo, who gave her an encouraging nod, and Al ran after her. 

“I understand she comes from an emotional standpoint,” Bail said, after the two were gone. “But allowing the Empire to consume itself from infighting is a much smarter long-term goal. That could allow us to strike while they’re weaker.” 

“By the way, what did she mean by _pet_ , Dy?” Noble butted in. 

“Purge Troopers. She still uses clones as her personal fighting force, despite most of us being phased them in favor of recruits. But these guys are elite. They’ve most likely received commander-level combat training or higher. The works.” Dynamo answered. 

Rex appeared distraught at this, but remained silent as the topic switched focus. 

Dynamo never elaborated on the leader of the Purges. The one who killed Jol. 

Ahsoka leaned back in her chair, heavy in thought. 

“Ahsoka?” Bail looked at her for input. 

She waved him off. 

“Okay.. Commander?” He asked Rex. 

“Your strategy makes _sense_ , Senator. But I think if we strike while her guard is down, we could be more successful, and perhaps even recover this weapon of hers before the Emperor gets his hands on it.” 

“You make a fair point, Rex.” Bail said. “How to proceed, indeed..” 

“Thank you sir, I do try.” 

“If we’re to do that, we need to find a hole in her defense.” Noble inputted. 

“She did say she was preparing for the inevitable fall of the Empire,” Dynamo said. “Maybe take advantage of the chaos if the day ever comes. She kept saying the Empire was spread too thin, and someone would slip in and bring it down one day.” 

Bail’s eyes attenuated. From a logistical standpoint, it made perfect sense. But was it reasonable to think the Empire would fall any time _soon_? He didn’t think it was likely, their power base was too consolidated, and Vantu was just one Moff. The Empire could last for decades, centuries even, at this rate. 

The Senator from Alderaan mused further. Why did he help found this organization? Why did he stand up to Palpatine, organize with Padme, Mon, and the others, at the end of the war, if not because of Palpatine’s growing power? Why consider the idea of rebelling in the first place if you’re dead set on the Empire existing forever? 

That’s why you _rebel_. You _fight back_. 

“She’s right.” Bail finally said. “Because eventually, somebody _will_ succeed in toppling Palpatine’s house of cards. That’s why several other senators and myself began this entire operation, hoping that one day someone would succeed at destroying the Emperor’s regime.” 

“If she grows too much in power, she could be that decisive factor, and _she_ could be the one succeeding the Empire, when the day comes,” Ahsoka pronounced. 

“So we take her down before the Empire moves on her?” Dynamo said. 

“Perhaps,” she replied. 

“One other thing _was_ said, if it’s of value,” Dynamo offered. “During our meeting, something was said to her by our contact. It seemed to have pissed her off, as if he had figured her out. It’s what led to the open-fire.” 

“What was it?” Rex asked. 

“He said he knew what she was doing, on Baradas. A _pet project_ of sorts. She grew furious and left her troopers to handle the rest.” 

Ahsoka sat up straight, her face losing all color. 

Dynamo looked confused. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

Bail looked at her in concern, before his eyes darted to Rex for assurance. Yet even Rex seemed puzzled. 

“Ahsoka?” Rex murmured. 

“We _have_ to go.” She whispered, fixated on the paperwork on the table, her expression completely devoid of life. 

“What’s wrong?” Bail inquired. 

“Baradas is in the _Shili_ system.” Her voice, typically resolute, grew somewhat thin. 

“Shili?” Dynamo said. 

“Yes. The homeworld of the Togrutas. _My_ homeworld.” 

“Are there Togrutas on Baradas?” Rex asked hurriedly. 

“It’s one of our colony worlds. Along with.. _Kiros_.” She softly buried her face in her hands. It felt like Kadavo all over again. The slave trade. The rescue. _Why_? Her people only knew peace, never violence. It was like a nightmare. 

Rex grew quiet. He knew what it meant. Recalling the infiltration mission during the war with Generals Skywalker and Kenobi. Togruta colonists were being siphoned into slavery via a shady network of Zygerrian aristocrats and Separatist deals. 

They ultimately freed them, but this time felt _different_. 

“Ahsoka. You must put aside your feelings on the matter,” Bail pleaded, beginning to sound more like a Jedi Master than a Senator. 

“Bail. These are _my_ people.” She fired back. Her eyes found his, and he was ultimately shaken at her newfound persistence. 

“And you could get yourself killed if you rush in there without hesitation, doing them no good but prolonging their suffering, if that’s what she’s doing to them.” Bail said to her. 

“She is. What else would she be doing? Feeding them a nice lunch?” She scoffed, and Bail grew tired. 

“We _must_ consult Mon Mothma on this. We _cannot_ rush to conclusions and run straight for a planet that could be a nest of Imperial firepower.” 

Ahsoka looked to Rex for potential support. The clone’s pupils flickered back and forth between the two arguing, and he stepped in. 

“With all due respect, Senator, if I were told my brothers were being held against their will by someone like this, I’d do everything in my power to break them free.” 

“Technically, they are. By the _Empire_.” Dynamo shot a quick reply to the Commander. “Vantu is part of that same Empire. We free these people _and_ ruin her plan, that’s a one-two punch to the same government that had every single one of our brothers enslaved.” 

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do that,” Bail insisted. “I’m saying we should plan this meticulously so we don’t run into error. I don’t field troops, we have no combat forces here. How do we expect to go in and light the place up?” 

“The same way we always do,” said Captain Antilles, from the far side of the table, his eyes briefly found Ahsoka in reference. “Quietly.” 

Bail shot a look at him, but Raymus simply shrugged. “I agree with all the arguments being made here, but at some point, when are we going to stop hiding and start _fighting_ , Senator? I’ve watched Ahsoka hop from planet to planet, fighting for the intel that we need to even stay afloat. If we all had _that_ kind of courage, to just face the situation head-on and give it our all, maybe the Vantus of the galaxy would be far fewer in number.” His statement captivated the room, and it fell silent following the oration. 

Bail Organa could only sigh at the truth. He knew it as well as anyone else in that room, maybe more so. 

“Consider me your first volunteer,” Raymus said. 

Ahsoka gave Raymus a overwhelmingly indebted smile, which was all she could drum up at the moment. 

Dynamo tapped his fingers on the table, listening to the arguments made. 

“I say we fight.” 

Rex nodded in agreement. “He’s right. The longer we wait, the more Ahsoka’s people suffer, and the more power Vantu builds.” 

“Yes, I never disagreed with any of that,” Bail said. “I just believe we should carefully map this out.” 

“We don’t have much time, now that she has her hands on that scientist,” Dynamo replied. “Any planning and organizing will have to be done quickly. Probably within a few days if we’re to try and get to that weapon before she gets a better grip on it.” 

“I should return to Coruscant while I have the time then,” Bail told them. “I can try and find some under-the-table military support from Mon and the other senators, and hopefully draw the attention of the operation away from the Emperor’s prying eyes.” He was betting a lot on political savvy, but in the end it was all he had to stand on in the Senate, especially when his movements on Coruscant were being watched. 

“Hold on, Senator.” Noble was the final one in the room to weigh in, after careful consideration. “We may not need you to go to Coruscant, at least not alone. I may require your help.” 

Bail leaned forward, intrigued. 

“What’s your plan, Captain?” He asked. 

“I need you to pull some strings, see if you can locate some old friends.” 

“Just give me the word and we’ll get started,” Bail said. 

Dynamo’s head turned like a swivel at his words, watching his Captain intently. 

“Are you thinkin’ the same thing I am?” Dynamo asked Noble, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. 

Ahsoka and Rex caught the exchange, and glanced across the table at each other with rising anticipation, eager to begin preparing. He gave her a look of reassurance, which she accepted silently. 

“You think it’s time to get the family back together?” Noble replied. 

Dynamo’s paltry smile erupted into a full-fledged grin, and he became wrought with emotion. 

“Yeah..” he said firmly. “I’m thinking it’s time, Cap.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ties in directly with the previous, so I'm releasing it pretty quickly, since it's already been done (I'm already a few chapters ahead, but don't want to overwhelm anyone). This was almost entirely needed exposition, I apologize if it dragged, I tried to write it in a way that wasn't too much of a slog. Lots of people needed to be caught up to speed, so I figured I'd do it all at once rather than have each person be individually informed, hopefully it would make things smoother.
> 
> A little insight into my thought process here: The decision to introduce the Togruta crisis on Baradas was an intentional reference to the Clone Wars arc with the Zygerrians, I wanted to create parallels between the Empire and those who sold Togruta into slavery during the war. History repeats itself, especially to species who are pacifistic, not favoring violence compared to humans or others. They are easily walked over, and that is a reoccurring theme in the galaxy, the oppressed stay oppressed, no matter who's in charge (also a point addressed in The Mandalorian episode "The Believer").
> 
> But now, it's time to get the band back together. Got some great character moments coming up in the next couple of chapters. Really excited to wrap this all up. Already got another Fic on my mind for the future.


	19. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad begins to reform as it sets sights on Manaan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT note regarding Orren's story at the end. Please read. Thank you!

**XIX**

* * * * 

Dantooine -- 14 BBY 

The frenzy swept through the corridors. 

It was a mass of engineers, intelligence officers, security personnel, pilots, a smattering of clones, a Jedi, and a Senator. Making way for the hangars that dotted the interior of the facility’s underground sinkhole. 

Breaking off from the crowd, Dynamo found his way back to a familiar ship. 

Two stood at the ramp of the _Paragon_ , watching him as he came in. 

“I’m sorry.” Dynamo started. “About earlier. You’re right, Kya. Jol deserves justice.” He paused, thinking of the implications of dealing in absolutes. “And we’re gonna get it for him.” 

Kya’s face remained stone. 

“Do you believe me?” He asked, approaching them in earnest. 

She nodded slowly. 

“I _promise_. We’re preparing to leave soon. We have to round up some old friends.” 

“The other troopers?” Al asked, looking at him longingly. She knew it was time to go. 

“That’s right.” He lifted her chin. 

Al tried to mask her emotion, but it seeped through the cracks nonetheless. 

“I’ll be okay,” he assured her. 

“I know..” 

“You don’t seem to feel the same.” 

“I just.. can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never see you again.” Her eyes hung low. 

Kya watched them, expression softening. 

“You will. I’ll return when this is all over. You have my _word_.” Dynamo said. 

“You’ve made good on your word before, Dy.” Kya said. “I trust you.” 

Al looked at her before back to the man she longed for. His eyes met hers and they lingered for a few seconds. Hours of words exchanged silently. 

Dynamo knew what she was feeling. He felt it himself. 

“He’s gotta go, Al. We gotta let him go.” She urged her towards the ship. Dynamo watched them go. 

Wiping her eyes, Al relented and followed Kya up the ramp. 

“Alexandria.” He called. 

Hearing her full name, she spun around quickly, as if her heart skipped a beat. 

“Thank you.” Dynamo told her. 

“For what?” She murmured. 

“Teaching me how to love someone.” 

She smiled and rushed back, finding his arms, and then his lips. 

“Come back to me, okay?” She said. 

“It’s a promise I intend to keep.” Their eyes locked a final time before they broke apart, and she returned into the ship’s hull. Kya stood at the edge of the ramp, finding the right words. 

“I’m counting on you, Dy. All of you. Kick her ass.” 

“You got it, Kya.” He winked. 

With a wave, she retreated deeper into the ship, and the ramp began to raise. 

Dynamo stood motionless in the center of the hangar as the sublight engines engaged with a reverberating hum, and the exhaust began to pour clouds of smoke throughout the bay. 

Mechanics and hangar attendants began swirling around him, frantically rushing about to prepare the bay for the next ship arrival as the _Paragon_ lifted and glided through the hangar shields. 

Dynamo raised a hand in goodbye as Al watched him from the rear viewport. 

The gathering crowd swarming about did little to faze him as they gave their silent goodbyes. 

He stepped forward, watching the _Paragon_ ascend out of the sinkhole, past the rolling container door, and into the vastness of Dantooine’s skies. 

The Lancer craft shrunk into a dot in the afternoon blues, as a single clone admired its steep climb into the stratosphere from the edge of the hangar. 

Eventually, it was just a fading spark in the upper atmosphere, popping past the gravity well, and jumping away to the vacuum of space. 

He returned to the facility, to his brothers. For now, they were his comfort. 

A few bays over, at the resting place of the _Tantive_ ’s pearl frame, Bail was chatting with Rex and Noble just beside the loading crane. 

As Dynamo appeared, they shifted their focus. 

“I take it your friends just departed?” Bail questioned. 

“They did.” He looked despondent. 

“Don’t fret, soldier. We will do our duty, and you can return to them. I promise.” Bail smiled. 

Dynamo could barely return it, yet he tried anyway. 

“All set to hit the road?” Rex asked the new arrival. 

“I suppose so. Got our gear squared away?” Dynamo asked. 

“Just the essentials. We’ll have to return here to coordinate the plan once everyone is accounted for.” Rex replied. 

Noble looked at his trooper, a twinge of sympathy glossing over his face. 

“So what’s the plan for right now?” Dynamo asked. 

“First we pick ‘em up. Then we get to work.” Rex added. 

“Great. Who’s first?” 

* * * * 

Manaan 

The cell was cold, damp, much unlike the rest of Ahto City’s polished exterior. 

For down here in the holding containment unit, the dark side of the Selkath’s prim and proper civilization was on full display. 

Fix gripped the bars, shaking furiously. 

“Let us _out_! We have evidence of conspiracy. _Release us_!” 

“It’s no use, kid. They won’t hear it.” 

“No sense being a pessimist right now, Wolffe, is there?” 

“Being a realist, perhaps.” Wolffe sighed, twirling his fingers around each other in morbid amusement as he sat on one of two beds in the cell. The mattress was frigid, and the padding was nearly nonexistent, leaving the steel bars to strain any and all those who slept on it. 

“We have to get out of here. Warn them.” 

“I’m willing to bet they’re all in on it.” 

“Not all of them. I bet there are some on the Ruling Council who would see otherwise.” 

“Good luck convincing them of that then. Drop off that manifest at their door and watch their reaction.” Wolffe chuckled. “Oh wait. We can’t, because we got ourselves locked away.” 

“Thank you for your commentary, Wolffe, it’s very much appreciated.” Fix groaned. 

“Just making my presence known.” He looked at Fix. “Cheer up. It could be worse.” 

“Worse? How worse?” 

“We survived the storm, survived the Imps, _and_ we got the victory we wanted. I’d say it was a success.” 

Fix tapped the bars, grumbling in annoyance. “I wouldn’t call _this_ a success.” 

“Just a hurdle in the road. We’ll clear it.” 

“How?” 

“Dunno. I take life one step at a time.” Wolffe smiled to himself. “Makes me chipper to know though, that we kicked the Imps’ ass right out of that hangar. Smoked their whole operation. Probably set them back weeks.” 

“And it won’t matter in the end because they’ll return anyways, without this evidence to convict them of weapons trafficking.” 

“Like I said, the Ruling Council struck a deal with them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they threw out that manifest the second they saw it.” 

“Maybe so, but they bargained with the Empire to trade _kolto_ and a few guns. Not rhydonium and crates full of explosives and heavy weaponry.” 

“Touche. But we need to find a way out of here first,” Wolffe said. 

“And how do you expect to do that? By taking it one step at a time?” Fix said sarcastically. 

“Now you’re catching on, mate.” Wolffe only grinned. Fix scoffed and returned to his useless pleas with the nearby guards. 

“ _Please_!” Fix cried. His mind wandered to Juuna, wondering if he’d ever get a chance to see her again. After everything he’d been through over the past forty-eight hours, he wouldn’t hesitate to confess his long-standing feelings for her. 

_If_ he was to ever get out of the hellhole he was trapped in. Fifty meters below street level, carved into an unused sewer tunnel was the prison complex of the Manaan Ruling Council. Built to degrade any prisoner’s psyche with the steady leaks of water, the damp cell seemed to be working rather easily on Fix. 

Until the guards disappeared. 

“ _Hey_!” The clone shouted. “Where are you going!?” 

“What’re you talking about?” Wolffe got up. 

“They all just left. We’re the only prisoners down here.” 

“Probably just changing shifts.” 

“They’ve done that at their post, they’ve never left.” 

Footsteps echoed from the stairwell at the end of the prison hall. They grew louder as a pair of boots struck the saturated duracrete. 

“Clones?” Came the husky voice of a Selkath. 

“Here!” Fix said. “Over here!” 

“There you are. You two are some troublemakers, you know that?” The Selkath stopped at the edge of the bars, looking through to the prisoners on the other side. 

“Who are you?” Wolffe asked. 

“Ehlto. I’m on the Ruling Council.” He reached a hand through the bars. “Give me your paperwork.” 

“Paperwork?” Fix said. 

“The manifest you claimed to have stolen from the Imperials, with their shipping data. We need it.” 

“What’re you gonna do with it?” Fix asked cautiously. 

“Try to get you out of here.” Ehlto said. “I hate the Empire just as much as the next person, I never wanted to do a deal with them. It was supposedly just for kolto and a few crates of ammunition, nothing like what you described in your arrest report.” 

“Looks like you were right, kid.” Wolffe nudged Fix gently. “Someone does seem to give a damn.” 

“That, and it was the only way the Ruling Council would agree to release you.” 

“Agree? Is someone negotiating on our behalf?” Fix inquired quickly. 

“Appears so. Just arrived a few hours ago. Some fancy offworlder.” Ehlto croaked. 

Wolffe and Fix looked at each other in bewilderment. 

“ _Offworlder_?” Wolffe said. 

“That’s right. A Senator.” 

“Here,” Fix offered the manifest, which had been strewn on his bed. 

Ehlto took it, and vowed to return soon. 

An hour passed, and the two clones dropped to their hard beds for a quick break from clutching the bars and waiting for Ehlto’s return. 

“You think he can get us out?” Fix asked. 

“Maybe. If somebody’s working on it. Funny how he said it was a Senator. I don’t know any Senators, do you?” 

Fix thought on it. Until he recalled, five years prior. 

“ _I do_.” 

With that, they heard the unlocking of their cell door, and the pair leaned up from their rest to see three figures just beyond the bars. 

Ehlto, and two far taller individuals. One of which a human, dressed in elegance and standing with poise, he must be the Senator that Ehlto spoke of. 

Fix remembered him well. 

“I’m glad to see you in one piece, Lieutenant Fix.” Bail Organa smiled at him from outside the cell. 

Fix looked back at him, slightly confused, yet hurried to the open door and out into freedom. 

The third person was in a clone captain’s uniform, top to bottom, helmeted and all. Fix could recognize the armor -- with its various markings -- anywhere. 

It was his Captain, still employed for Bail it seemed, but nonetheless, it was him. 

“Fix.” The vocalizer said, as the helmet unlocked from his head. 

“Captain.” 

Noble and Fix stood eye to eye for the first time in five years. 

They saluted each other almost in unison. 

Fix offered his Captain a handshake, which the superior gladly obliged, pulling him into a quick but hearty hug. 

“Been too long, Fix. Glad you’re alive.” 

“Likewise, Cap.” 

Ehlto motioned to Wolffe and Fix, the former of whom was emerging from the cell. 

“Thanks for this,” Ehlto said, holding the manifest in his hand. “The damage to the hangar is now being blamed on the Imperial forces there, not yourselves. The Ruling Council is voting tonight on whether to ban the Imperial military from utilizing our hangar space, and to return to neutral status.” 

“The Empire respects no neutrality declaration,” Bail insisted. “Be wary as you make your deliberations.” 

“We will, Senator, thank you. Your clients are free to go as they please.” Ehlto bowed, which Bail returned, and he departed for upstairs, leaving the Senator and the two clones alone amidst the mildew-infested containment unit. 

“Who’s this?” Bail motioned to Wolffe, who emerged from the cell slowly, eyeing the Alderaanian. 

“ _Wolffe_?” 

Wolffe whirled, his one eye finding the stairwell, where a fourth clone had descended promptly. 

“Rex?” 

The two stood a few paces apart from each other. 

“I-I thought you were--..” Rex stopped himself. “You’re alive?” 

“I am. So are you, it seems.” Wolffe said. 

“Are you.. are you..?” Rex pointed to his own head. 

“Not anymore.” 

“You found it?” 

“It never worked to begin with. My troops turned on me on Cato Neimoidia.” 

Rex was wordless. 

“What about you?” Wolffe asked slowly. 

Rex recalled the skirmish aboard the _Tribunal_ , the removal of his own chip, and the crash. Jesse’s helmet still haunted his mind. 

“Same.” He murmured. 

Wolffe approached him, and Rex only blinked. 

“It’s nice to see you’re still standing, brother. I never thought I’d see any of you again,” Wolffe whispered. “I’ve been alone for so long, till I found Fix here.” He pointed to his new friend, who remained standing with Bail and Noble. 

“I didn’t think so either, Wolffe. It’s.. _great_ to see you again.” 

They embraced, and as Rex fought back his own tears as he offered a silent ‘thank you’ to Bail from afar. 

Bail nodded, pleased with the reunions, before turning to Fix as the other two spoke. 

“I’m sorry to arrive on such short notice. But we need your help.” 

“ _We_?” Fix asked. 

“That’s right,” Bail replied. “It turns out, I’m afraid, that your former admiral, Vantu, is alive and well. She’s been causing problems for us, and may be in the process of enslaving a group of Togruta, while hunting down Jedi.” 

Fix stared wide-eyed at him before looking at Noble, who placed a hand gingerly on his shoulder. 

“I know it’s a shock, especially after just being released from a cell. But you must believe us. We need your help, brother. We’re trying to put these pieces back together. You’re necessary for it to be successful.” Noble said. 

Fix shook his head in amazement at the revelation. 

“I can’t believe it. Really. She’s alive? After leaving us to die there?” He thought back to Quermia, with a passion emulated by his brothers in Gale Squad. They were all furious, but silently acknowledged that without her abandonment, they may still be useful tools of the Empire. 

Regardless, enslavement was an abhorrent act to Fix, and he knew they were there to recruit him for that sole reason. If it was for his brothers, he’d act without question of the task or place. 

“Are there others here?” He asked Noble. 

“Dynamo is. He’s maintaining the ship and logging our flight with the port authority’s office.” 

In just a few short minutes, Fix’s face had morphed from confusion, to shock, to horror, back to confusion, before finally resting on eagerness to see another old friend. 

“I accept then. On one condition.” 

“Which is?” Bail cut in. 

“I retired for a reason.. I’d like to return to my solitude once this is finished, if that’s okay.” 

“Deal.” The Senator and the clone shook on it. Fix briefly glanced to Noble for reaffirming the pact. 

Noble only blinked at the proposition, and said nothing in silent agreement. 

“So.” Fix attempted to lighten the mood. “You came to bail me out, eh?” He smiled, patting the Senator on the back. “Is _that_ why they call you Bail?” 

Bail stared at him blankly, and Noble shook his head. 

Fix realized he wasn’t Chuckles. 

“That was _terribly_ unfunny, and I deeply apologize.” He backed off in unabashed shame. 

“It’s quite fine, trooper.” Bail said. “Come. Let’s climb to the surface, it’s far better than this ghastly place. Don’t forget your helmets.” 

Fix obliged, still red from his poor humor. They ascended to the light once again, with Rex and Wolffe trailing behind, still loudly catching up with each other. 

Manaan’s sun enveloped the former prisoners in warmth as they reached the surface, which was desperately needed after the hours spent in the depths below the city’s walkways. 

Bail led them towards the spaceport entrance, with the lower tiers blockaded to all pedestrian traffic. Fix snuck in a quick snort of laughter at his own doing. 

Parked in the first hangar bay -- the exterior entrance of which was still muddied with ocean sediment and kelp strands from the hyperstorm -- was the gleaming shape of a CR70 corvette. 

“Is that..” Fix began. 

“The _Tantive_? Yes.” Bail chuckled. “I remember you admiring it while you were still on Dantooine.” 

“She’s a fine ship, sir. I’d love to have a look inside.” 

“You’ll get the chance, we don’t have much time to spare.” 

“We’re leaving now?” Fix asked. “I don’t even know what it is we’re doing.” 

“I’ll explain when we’re onboard, come.” 

“Wait.” Fix urged. “There’s something I _must_ do before we leave. If you’re okay with it?” 

“If it’s quick, sure. I don’t mind waiting here.”  
“You headed back towards home, Fix?” Wolffe asked, coming up behind them, with Rex in tow. 

“Something I need to do. You’re welcome to tag along.” 

“If it’s what I think it is, count me in.” 

Bail sighed. “Alright now boys, let’s make it quick. I’ll post my departure with the control center in forty minutes. Is that enough time?” 

“It’s plenty, Senator.” Fix said with an eager smile. “I’ll be back a little differently than how I left. Tell Dynamo to wait for us in bay two. I have a surprise for him.” 

Bail furrowed his brows. _What does that mean_? 

Meandering back to his garage at the edge of the east side, Fix, Noble, Wolffe, and Rex talked amongst themselves, trading wisecracks and talking about the upcoming mission at hand. 

Once inside the interior portion of the garage, Rex looked around in awe at the various projects and parts lying dormant throughout Fix’s personal space. 

“You have quite the setup here, trooper,” Rex commented. “Noble told me you’ve always been a hell of a mechanic.” 

Noble nodded. “Damn right. Fix is the best I know.” His hand found the body of a kolto harvester, broken in two pieces before Fix had fused it together. 

“It’s my specialty, I guess,” Fix smirked, taking a miniature speeder from the top rack of a holding cart and placing it on the frame of an operator’s bench. He took a nearby creeper dolly and lay his back flat on it as he wheeled under the speeder and began to quickly inspect the broken pieces, figuring out how to fix it. 

“Last minute job?” Noble asked, his eyes briefly finding the ship wrapped under tarp. 

“Sort of,” Fix said. “Hey Wolffe, do me a favor and grab that notepad on the center countertop. 

Wolffe nodded and took it from its resting place. 

“You need something from it?” He asked. 

“The telecomlink address. Should be the top line. Give it a dial over on the wall over there,” he motioned to his far left, near the door to his inner chamber. “Tell her Fix will have her repair done in five minutes, to come pick it up.” 

Wolffe relayed the message through the telecom to the woman on the other line. While he had no idea the woman was Juuna, Fix was well aware. 

Rex walked about the room, admiring a few swoop bikes that had fallen into disrepair. 

“I bet these things are wicked out on the waves,” he remarked. 

“You have _no_ idea,” Fix said with a laugh. “Those things cause more trouble than they’re worth, but can absolutely catapult you to the winner’s spot of any swoop race in the Outer Rim.” 

“Gonna have to try it out someday,” he said, giving a cocky grin to Wolffe, who shook his head. 

“You get on one of those, Rex, you’d probably bust your ass and blame the speeder rather than the operator.” 

“Can it, Wolffe. I could operate one of those better than you could.” 

“Wanna put money on it?” Wolffe deadpanned. 

Rex shot a look at him. “Maybe when this is all over.” 

Under the operator’s bench, Fix worked away, grabbed a few spare coils, rewiring connections and replacing one of the outer frame pieces, before a knock at the door was heard. He had just finished oiling up one of the interior chassis pieces before wheeling out from under it. 

Noble answered the door. It was a Twi’lek, with her daughter. She looked rather nervous, but greeted the clone warmly. 

“H-hi..? Is Fix around?” Juuna asked. “It sounded like him on the telecom, but I wasn’t sure.” 

Wolffe popped his head into the conversation, looking between Noble and Juuna. 

“Yeah, he’s here.” Noble invited her in. She had known already that Fix was a clone, as she served Wolffe in the cantina often, so the appearance of others came as a little surprise to her. 

Wolffe raised an eyebrow in intrigue, nodding back at Fix with a coy smirk. 

Fix gave him a look. _Knock it off_! 

She entered, just as Fix hoisted the child-size speeder from the bench and handed it over to the little girl. 

Juuna watched her daughter grow ecstatic, climbing aboard the speeder and starting it up with the purr of a freshly tuned engine. Squealing in happiness, she hopped off of the speeder’s seat and ran to Fix, hugging his leg in thanks while peering up to him with bright eyes. 

Noble chuckled softly, watching Fix turn into another Karma. 

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Juuna said, eyeing Fix subtly. “You have no idea how grateful I am for this. It’s small but it means so much.” 

“Juuna.” He said abruptly, stepping towards her. “I have to leave.” 

“Leave?” She asked. “Why?” 

“I have a job to do. Offworld. I won’t be gone very long. But..” 

“But?” 

“..But I wanted to say, in case, you know, something happened, because space is a dangerous place, and there are lots of planets out there, some of which are also pretty dangerous, not that I’m prone to getting in trouble or anything, but you never know, I just wanted to say tha--..” 

His rant was stopped by her finger, which placed itself firmly on his lips. He grew quiet. 

“Come back in one piece instead of several, I’m not as good of a mechanic as you.” Juuna said, before moving to leave a lasting kiss on his lips. They parted with mutual smiles, and Fix’s nervousness had melted away. 

“Make it back here, you understand?” She told him. “I’ll be expecting you at the cantina.” 

“Is that an order?” Fix said. 

“You bet your ass it is.” Juuna smiled. 

“Yes ma’am,” he offered her a playful salute. 

The Twi’lek looked back to her daughter, who was staring up at them with jubilance in her eyes. 

Fix seized on the moment and leaned in to kiss Juuna again, as a proper goodbye. She returned it in kind, before breaking off and urging him to hurry on his way. 

Watching from across the room, Wolffe elbowed Rex in the ribs. “I taught him that.” 

“Taught him what?” Rex asked. “How to kiss somebody?” 

“ _No_! I taught him the art of the _woman_.” Wolffe beamed with mischievous pride. 

Rex rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, and I taught him how to ride a bantha.” 

Fix looked over at the other three clones, and was met with encouraging nods and sly smiles of congratulations. Wolffe offered a thumbs-up. 

He waved them off teasingly, attempting to hide his own smile. 

Juuna departed with her daughter as swiftly as they had arrived, and Fix shouted his goodbyes while they scurried from the garage and out into the plaza, eventually around a corner and out of his view. 

“What now, _ladies man_?” Rex asked, as Fix returned inside. 

“I guess it’s time to go.” Fix said, chuckling at the nickname. He ran into his living quarters, grabbing a few personal items, before re-emerging into the garage space. 

“You finally gonna tell me what’s under this thing?” Wolffe slid his hand across the ship that was blanketed by the black tarp. 

“I agree, it’s shaped differently than anything in here.” Noble added. 

Fix pulled an ignition stick from his pocket, flashing it in the air. 

“You’re about to find out,” he smiled. 

* * * * 

Bail Organa and Dynamo stood in the empty hall of the second hangar bay. Through the transparisteel viewport built into the separator walls, Bail watched the _Tantive_ as it was refueled and maintenanced by a few spare droids. 

“He’s got five minutes,” Bail murmured. 

Dynamo watched the clear skies beyond the shields of the hangar. His mind still saw the _Paragon_ departing. 

This time, it was an arrival they were expecting. 

“He’ll be here. Fix is never one to be late,” Dynamo said with a smile. 

“I hope so.” Bail said. 

On the distant horizon, near the edge of the buoyant metropolis, the outline of a ship came into view, growing exponentially by the second as the cresting waves lapped up at its hull. 

Streaking over the wild oceans, the figure of the ship became clearer. 

“Is that..?” Bail asked, squinting ahead. 

“Yeah..” Dynamo said, shaking his head with a laugh. “The son of a bitch.” 

The roar of the LAAT’s engines deafened the observers as it blew into the hangar at flight speeds, before settling to the duracrete floor with a soft landing. 

While the engines lay idle, Bail’s eyes swept over the gunship. 

The outer hull had been recently repainted in traditional cream and red colors of the Republic military. All of the outer weapons, landing gear, transparisteel viewports, and locking doors had been unchanged since Quermia, only retrofitted with newer parts. The space vacuum seal was still in place. 

Inside the gunship, the red warning light permeated across the faces of three clones. 

Upon landing, the light flashed green for offloading, and they surged forth. 

Fix sat in the cockpit, tinkering with a few switches and dials, ensuring everything was running smoothly. 

It was the first time he had gunned it up in over two years, and its first real flight test since he arrived on Manaan. 

He was the last to depart, to Dynamo’s welcoming arms. 

“Fix, you little shit, c’mere.” 

They found each other with a swift handshake and claps on the back. 

“How ya’ been?” Dynamo asked. 

“Busy,” Fix said, glancing to Wolffe, who only grinned. 

“I can see that.” Dynamo looked at the LAAT. “You got her lookin’ all shiny again.” 

“I had to. Once Laeda was able to requisition it back and have it dropped off, it became a personal project.” 

“Should name it,” Noble added, approaching the pair. 

“I have an idea,” Fix said. 

“ _Tempest_.” 

“An honor. I respect it,” Noble gripped the mechanic’s shoulder in earnest. 

“You still a freaky flyer?” Dynamo teased. 

“You still a shitty shot?” Fix clapped back. 

Wolffe overheard the exchange and struggled to contain his laughter. Dynamo shot him a look. 

“Alright, boys. Let’s rally it up. We have another stop to make,” Bail called over the commotion. “Fix, are you preparing to take that with us?” He looked at the gunship. 

“Aye, you got room underneath?” 

“You’re in luck, I only have a single-ship hangar, and it’s currently empty.” Bail smiled. “It’ll have to be an atmospheric docking.” 

“Let’s do it then,” Noble clapped his hands, joining Fix onboard the LAAT. Rex and Wolffe followed Bail off to the _Tantive_ , still trading stories of the past five years. 

Dynamo looked to the LAAT, gliding both hands along the bow, feeling the grooves of the laser discharge stimulators, the housing unit for the power convertor and capacitor arrays, and the pointed turret of the particle beam. 

It felt like an old friend. 

The gunship responded with a burst of energy from a restarted engine, vibrating the outer frame as Dynamo jumped in surprise. 

He looked up at Fix, who was cackling from inside the cockpit.  
“Wily bastard.” Dynamo smirked, before hopping onto the holding deck as the side doors closed and the ship lifted to take off. 

As the two ships, varying wildly in size, departed from Ahto City’s spaceport, they joined in unison a few kilometers above the oceans, with the LAAT ascending into the underside docking port of the _Tantive_. 

After all was accounted for, the _Tantive_ reached the upper exosphere, and blasted further off into the darkness of space, punching in coordinates for the next stop. 

Fix needed a double-take at one of the viewports onboard, watching the cool blue sphere draw further away. A glowing white spot in the middle of the worldwide ocean reminded him of Juuna, until it disappeared. 

Near the northern pole, he saw the remnants of a massive storm, swirling counterclockwise and beginning to break apart from forces beyond his -- or anyone’s -- control. The endless sheets of storm clouds were ripping into angelic white threads, weaving their way over the melted ice caps before being absorbed into the natural flow of the planet. 

The dying hyperstorm rained itself out over the polar north, and the _Tantive_ made the jump to lightspeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Orren's story isn't related to this chapter, but since I covered him recently, I wanted to point this out as soon as I could. I just recently realized that Orren's story could be misinterpreted as an intentional clone of Luke's from TLJ. While there are some glaring similarities, I never intended to rip-off that narrative, I meant more to parallel it. I'm personally not a fan of TLJ or how they handled Luke at all. But that's another discussion. However, I felt that the story of "cutting himself off from the Force and living under a Force tree" would be a better fit for Orren in this story than what it was for Luke. I also needed a reason that the Inquisitors couldn't find him, so I had to cut him off from the Force. The tree was introduced because it plays a role towards the end. That was mostly coincidental.
> 
> Displaying how the generations of Jedi through the ages have similarities is rather interesting to me. Where, every few generations, some get jaded and exile themselves. How they spend that exile may be different. Yoda and Obi-Wan believe in and train new Jedi. Orren and Luke just chill and don't really care about the outside world until they're convinced otherwise, with differing opinions on the future (Orren sees himself in Luko for future training potential, Luke wants it all to die). I think Luke should've been more like Yoda from the get-go, but that's just me. I believe Luke's story should not have gone the way Orren's has. Like I mentioned with the Togruta in the last chapter, history repeats itself. Star Wars operates in cycles and seems to recycle certain plot points to demonstrate that (even as far back in the Legends timeline as KotoR).
> 
> Just wanted to set that straight before anyone got worried I was trying to rip something off. It's more of an intended spiritual parallel. This was confusing for me to explain, my thought process can be complicated. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.  
> PS: I've already started writing Chapter 24, so I'm well ahead of what's been released already!


	20. Five Clones Walk Into A Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Coruscant, reconciliations are made.

**XX**

* * * * 

Coruscant -- 14 BBY 

Reverting to realspeed just beyond the gravity well of the Imperial capital, the _Tantive III_ eased its drive engines into sublight speeds, correcting its vectors to avoid any possible orbital displacements. 

Gliding past an Imperial defense satellite array, a HoloNet message was relayed to the surface from the cockpit of the corvette. 

Bail, Noble, and Rex flanked Raymus as he drew the ship down to low power and began to enter the atmosphere. 

A voice from the surface crackled through the ship’s HoloNet comlink. 

“Attention CR70 on approach, this is Coruscant traffic control, Megablock 8240, please direct all landing and traffic related communications to this Megablock address. Copy.” 

“Megablock 8240 tower, this is CR70 _Tantive_ currently adjusting vectors. Request landing at an available platform in any adjacent blocks, copy.” Captain Antilles spoke back into the comlink. 

“CR70 _Tantive_ you are cleared for landing at platform 4640, Megablock 8400, coordinates will be transmitted. Vectors look okay. Reduce speed past the exosphere, and submit transponder codes over the same frequency.” 

“Copy that, Coruscant tower. CR70 _Tantive_ en route.” 

“It gets repetitive,” Raymus said, his Alderaanian accent clipped and calm. “Only this time, we’re requesting a different landing platform, a fair distance from the government district.” 

“Where do you normally land?” Rex asked. 

“In the Senate hangar.” Raymus replied. “But the Senate is in a pro forma session, so Senator Organa’s presence would be unusual given the times.” 

“The Emperor keeps an eye on politicians like myself,” Bail said, looking at Rex warily. “Any slip-up, and our world could come crashing down.” 

“Best to keep our heads low then.” Noble said. 

“That’s a wise idea, Captain,” Bail returned. “This is the Emperor’s world now.” 

The supertowers of Coruscant’s several urban cores simmered in the summer sun, which ducked in and out between the wisps of clouds that tore through the dwindling afternoon sky. 

The _Tantive_ ’s hull reflected dozens of rays in all directions, turning it into a bright pinpoint in a steel landscape as it set down on the floating platform. 

At the base of the platform, the group emerged swiftly, changed into inconspicuous clothing. Bail requested a speeder transport from one of the nearby platform attendants as the wind whipped viciously across the exposed surface. 

Nearly a thousand meters above the surface of Level 5127, Fix took a few steps towards the edge of the platform’s surface, and gambled a look over the side. He teetered a bit, and pulled himself back from the dizzying view downward. 

“Careful there Fix,” Noble called out to him. “No railings up here.” 

“Makes no sense, from a structural standpoint.” Fix stammered. “I-I just don’t get it. It’s like they _want_ you to fall and die.” A strong gust nearly took him off his feet. “See what I mean?” 

Wolffe watched him, smirking in amusement, as Bail’s requested speeder arrived. 

“I’ll have to wait for you here.” Bail told the clones. “I can’t be seen down in the city right now, I’m too valuable a target.” 

“Do you know where he is?” Rex asked Noble, who then looked at Dynamo. 

“Pretty good idea. I can’t think of anywhere else..” Dynamo said. “That is.. if he’s still alive.” 

“He is, he’s a tough one.” Noble replied. “Come on, let’s get down there.” 

The five clones boarded the airspeeder, a rather modest and dimly painted silver multi-seater, designed to hold more than the typical two occupants. 

“TaggeCo airspeeder, high-occupancy build. Pretty damn nimble for its size,” Fix murmured as he took the controls. Noble seated himself beside Fix, while Dynamo, Rex, and Wolffe took up the rear seats. 

Nudging it into a dive, the speeder shot down into the nearest skylane, before dropping a few levels towards the surface, with Wolffe clutching the armrail of the door for dear life. 

“Haven’t been here since the war ended..” Rex whispered. 

Wolffe looked at him, trying to get his mind off of the erratic movements of the speeder. “I don’t think any of us have, brother. Not a place I expected to return to.” 

“Yeah,” Dynamo added. “Let’s make this a short trip..” He noticed a few recognizable landmarks in the distance, towards the military district of the government core. 

Landmarks he had wished to forget. The Venator landing pads, AT-TE assembly zones. The barracks. 

_All of it_. 

Zipping past a luxury apartment block, Fix found a landing pad on the surface for speeders. Setting it down with ease, they entered the flood of pedestrians on the upper-level walkways. 

“Keep your heads down boys.” Rex said. 

Dynamo and Wolffe had hoods that rose to cover their heads. Rex and Noble angled their eyes to the ground as they walked. Fix was their main navigation through the streets, as they searched for a turbolift. 

A few Imperial patrol crafts and police cruisers rocketed overhead in pursuit of a rogue airspeeder as they crossed a bridge over an industrial trench, carrying electrical, plasma, bacta, and water lines to the wealthier megablocks. 

They weren’t used to being back in the bustle of the ecumenopolis, but they sure didn’t miss it. 

The only benefit to being on Coruscant, is how easily you can _blend in_ with the trillions of souls occupying the same space. Nobody thought twice about seeing a group of old clone troopers, presumably retired, making their way through a district. 

A squad of patrol stormtroopers hustled past them without a word, though maybe leaving a lingering glance at their predecessors. 

“Always hated their helmets, honestly.” Wolffe said. 

“They look more cruel.” Dynamo added. 

“I think that’s the point.” Noble said. “They’re enforcing through overwhelming will and fear. Not fighting a war against a bunch of Separatists. They don’t need to look admirable anymore.” 

“Shame,” Dynamo spoke up over a group of rambunctious Quarren, selling fish nearby. “Our armor’s definitely better.” 

“Have you ever fought one?” Noble asked him. 

Dynamo recalled the clone in stormtrooper armor from Naboo. Not an image he was likely to forget anytime soon. The man’s face still danced through his mind from time to time. 

“Matter of fact, yeah. Few days ago on Naboo. Another time, I’ll tell you.” 

They reached a turbolift, pushing through a throng of travelers from offworld, and slipped into an empty one at the end of the platform. 

“You remember which level it’s on?” Wolffe asked Fix. 

“I think so. I didn’t go there as often as he did.” Fix mused. 

“I don’t think any of us did, it was more popular with the drunks.” Wolffe replied. 

“Yeah.. sounds about right.” Noble said. 

“ _Destination Input._ ” 

Fix obliged. 

“ _Destination Set - Level Three One Six Four._ ” 

As soon as the last one, Rex, entered the lift, the doors closed, and the sun disappeared as they descended deep into the lower levels. 

* * * *

The droning of the nightclub dulled his senses. He sat alone, finishing his second shot of whiskey before hailing an attendant droid for another round. 

“What is it you require sir?” 

“Whiskey. Corellian. More of it.” 

“We only just opened sir, shouldn’t you be taking it slower?” 

“If I wanted your opinion I’d _ask_ for it.” 

“Right away, sir.” The droid scurried back to the bar. 

Chuckles leaned his cheek into a balled fist, propped up on the wobbly club table, watching the rather empty club slowly fill with those trickling in for the evening rush. 

He hadn’t been to this club in years. 

_“Where ya going?”_

_“C’mon in here, clones like to hang out here I heard.”_

_“The Orbital? Never heard of it..” Chuckles said._

_“They serve Corellian whiskey.” Tandem replied with a smirk._

_“Alright, alright. You win,_ this time _. But_ next time _, I choose the spot. Deal?”_

_“Deal.”_

_They ended up under a rickety table in the back corner of the club, having to be hauled out the next morning by a team of Noble, Fix, Sash, and Copy._

_Chuckles never got around to choosing the next spot, as they returned to The Orbital again, and again._

_And again._

Beneath the same table Chuckles sat at -- still incredibly off-balance -- he saw bodies of two clones sprawled out underneath, liquor leaking from the crevices of their lips as the premises began emptying. 

The droid returned promptly. 

“Here you are sir. Another shot.” 

“All that time for _one_ shot. Make it four more. Go on.” 

He waved the droid off, and raised the third shot glass, eyeing its contents. Taking a quick and forceful swig, the whiskey was gone, and he examined it again. 

Peering through the glass, it suddenly grew full again. Only this time, because of the figure standing in front of him. 

“Keep walking, pal.” 

“You talk to your superior officer that way?” 

Chuckles dropped the glass. 

“C-Cap..” He stuttered, looking into the eyes of Captain Noble. 

“Whaddya doing down here, Chuckles?” 

Chuckles grew flustered, almost embarrassed. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

“Trying to forget. Doesn’t work that way.” 

“Been working just fine, thanks for asking.” Chuckles offered a sarcastic smile before looking for the droid with the rest of his shots. “Don’t seem to remember inviting you down here.” He raised his eyebrows in suspicion. 

“Didn’t need to. You’re an easy man to find.” 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Same club I pulled you out of six years ago.” 

Chuckles fell silent, not able to look Noble in the eyes. 

“Am I wrong?” Noble asked again. “You and Tandem loved this place.” 

Chuckles barely nodded. 

Noble reluctantly took a seat across from him, taking advantage of the shadowy corner the table was positioned in. 

“What do you want, Cap? Why are you here?” 

“To recruit you.” 

Chuckles laughed. 

“Funny.” 

“Don’t see the humor in it, brother. We need you.” 

“Who’s to say I need _you_? That life is over.” 

“Maybe. But maybe this is bigger than that.” 

The droid returned again, with four shots. It turned its attention to Noble, who declined a drink, and wheeled off. 

Chuckles took the first glass, swirling it around in its form, and had it down his throat in under a second. 

“You’ve gotten good at that,” Noble said. 

“Had a lot of practice.” 

“I can see that. Not much to do down here, I imagine. But drink and stim yourself to oblivion, yeah?” 

Chuckles glared at him. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“Cause you’re still my brother, Chuckles. We fought together, bled together. I didn’t forget about you overnight.” 

“Spare me, Noble.” 

“I won’t. We _need_ you.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s urgent. A mission. We’re short on volunteers, don’t have a military force. It’s just us.” 

“ _Us_? Who’s _us_?” 

Noble turned, beckoning the rest into the club. The music found its way through their steps, enlightening their paces and synchronizing to their treads. 

Chuckles looked around at them, lingering on Fix, then Dynamo. 

“Who’re the two new guys?” 

“That’s Rex, and Wolffe. Friends.” 

Chuckles nodded in quick greeting. 

“Karma?” 

“Not yet.” Noble said. 

“Glad to see you’re still sulking away, Chuckles.” Dynamo muttered. 

“Can it, Dy. If you’re just here to insult me then you can screw off.” 

Noble held his hand up to pause the exchange. “Not now,” he said. “We can’t bring back our divides. We split because of Quermia. Don’t let those divisions resurface. We’re past that.” 

“Past it? I still live it every day.” Chuckles said, looking at Fix. “What’ve you been doing, mechanic?” 

“Fixing shit. What’ve you been doing?” 

“Drinking shit.” 

“Sounds fun.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Listen to me Chuckles. We don’t have a lot of time, Bail gave us a lift here, but he’s under surveillance. We have to leave soon, and we’d like you to be with us.” Noble urged. 

“What makes you think I’m gonna go off with you on your ship to Force knows where?” 

“Because I know you’re a good man. A good soldier. With a _good heart_.” 

“Not anymore.” 

“What would Tandem do right now? Huh?” Noble asked. “Would he stand up with his brothers, or mope away in the filth of the underworld?” 

“Don’t you _dare_ use Tandem against me.” Chuckles spat, taking another shot. “You have _no_ damn right, _none_.” 

“You think you were the only one who _lost_ someone?” Fix said. “We all _lost someone_. We just choose to hide it better. Tandem hit us all where it hurt. But guess what? So did Stax, and Copy. Sash, Ty. Look at Rex and Wolffe here, they’ve lost their entire battalions, entire _legions_ to the Empire. They’re all that’s left.” 

“Karma is the only one left of the Tempests. He’s got a wife and kids, moved on from the war.” Dynamo added. 

“Exactly. So why try to drag yourselves back into the war. Learn from Karma and move on.” Chuckles replied. 

“But this is bigger than all of us. You think we haven’t planned to ask Karma? We will. And I can tell you what he’d say. Family or not.” 

“What is it then?” Chuckles asked. “Why fly all the way out here, risk getting yourselves captured or killed, just to pick me up?” 

Noble sighed. 

“Vantu’s alive, Chuckles.” 

He held off on his sixth shot. 

“No way. That’s bullshit.” Chuckles shook his head. “You’re _lying_.” 

“Why would we lie to you? Come all the way out here and risk our skins just to _lie_ to you? You think too little of us, if that’s the case.” 

Chuckles knew he wasn’t lying. 

“How do you know?” 

“Intel reports. Been gathering them for weeks.” 

“And? What’s that got to do with us?” 

“She’s got a whole colony full of Togruta under her boot. She’s a Moff.” 

Chuckles gulped, eyes fluttering about the club, trying to find anything other than the clones to look at. 

“I don’t know you,” Rex started, “but you look like you could really use a reason to get off this rock.” 

Chuckles said nothing. 

“He’s right.” Wolffe said. “I bet you do wanna come with us, don’t you. Get back out there again.”  
“You don’t _know me_ , you don’t know what I’m thinking.” 

“I’ve seen that look a million times before.” Wolffe replied. “You’re getting tired of it here, aren’t you?” 

He was right. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Chuckles, _please_. This woman has far too much power, and if left unchecked, she could pose a serious risk to the galaxy in the future.” 

Chuckles leaned back against the booth, a sigh escaping his lips. He bit the inside of his lip and his eyes found Noble once again. 

“I can’t go back to my apartment. Imps have been searching it all day.” 

“Why?” Fix asked. 

“I got into a little trouble up on the surface. Digging through an Imperial Archives tower.” 

“Imperial Archives?” Noble asked curiously. “For what? We just recently had it hacked.” 

“Evidence on the Jedi.” 

“There is none. Just some doctored HoloNet footage of General Yoda in the Senate chamber,” came Noble’s response. 

“I know.” 

“Then why’d you go looking?” 

“Wanted someone to blame.” Chuckles was fighting back the emotion at this point. 

“ _Chuckles_.” Noble started. “You and I _both_ know that the Jedi didn’t do this.” He pointed to the back of his head. “They were better than that. _Orren_ was better than that.” 

Chuckles winced at the name, the first time he had heard it spoken in years. 

“Then who did it, Cap?” Chuckles asked. 

“You know damn well who did it.” Noble’s finger pointed up. “The Empire did it. Whoever gave that order. The clones are slaves to the Empire.” 

“We made it out.” 

“We’re lucky. Don’t throw away your life because of it.” 

“And you think risking my life again isn’t throwing it away?” Chuckles was playing devil’s advocate in opposition to himself at this point, arguing against his better judgment. 

“C’mon Chuckles, you know better than this. We swore an oath as clones. To defend those who could not fight for themselves. To fight for the innocents under threat of war. For the _Republic_.” Noble reminded him. 

“The Republic’s dead.” 

“But the idea of it isn’t. Fighting for freedom, for those who are oppressed, and giving them a voice. Stopping Vantu would be doing just that, and it would be securing the safety of potentially millions in her sector.” 

“Until another warlord draws it up for themselves.” Chuckles responded. 

“Not like her. She’s got a weapon. Some ancient Jedi weapon. She might use it to hunt them down. The other Moffs don’t seem smart enough to gather the resources she has. She’s planning for something bigger. We have to stop her now and make an example that the galaxy won’t stand for this.” 

“We’re just a bunch of clones.” 

“We’re soldiers. We fight. That’s what we do best, whether we like it or not. And we have to _fight_.” Fix cut in. Dynamo and Wolffe nodded. Rex stroked his chin in thought. 

“Trooper,” Rex said, “if you want vengeance for what happened to your friend. For _all_ of your friends, you’d wanna strike at the Empire. They’re the cause of your pain.” 

“I can’t take on the Emperor,” Chuckles smirked. 

“Maybe not.” Rex replied. “But you can still hit ‘em where it hurts. Make ‘em bleed. Show the galaxy that they _can_ bleed. For your friend’s sake.” 

Chuckles sat in thought, wordless. Noble watched him apprehensively. 

“I have nowhere to go as it is.” Chuckles shrugged. “Was planning on the Imps showing up any day now and grabbing me in the thick of night, dragging me off to some cell to rot.” 

“So _come with us_ brother. We need you. Join us. Help us.” Noble implored. “Please.” 

The clone had been looking for retribution for five years. When the opportunity finally presented itself, he realized it was time to take it. 

Chuckles slowly nodded. 

“Okay.” He said. “ _For Tandem_.” 

Noble found a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. He leaned forward and pulled Chuckles from his seat into a tight embrace. 

“I missed you, brother.” Noble whispered. 

Chuckles felt a tear falling from his eye. 

“At least I’m already dressed.” Chuckles quipped. 

Dynamo grinned, looking at Chuckles’ worn phase two armor that was still draped on him from the Archives escapade. 

“Where’s your helmet?” Dynamo asked him. 

“On the floor. Fix, grab it for me. Noble won’t let me go.” Noble still had him in a bearhug. 

“I got it.” Fix said, handing it over to him as Noble finally released him. 

“Welcome back, Chuckles.” Fix said with a smile. 

Chuckles let out a small laugh. “Glad to be with you pricks again.” 

“Hate to cut this short,” Wolffe interjected. “But I saw a few patrols pass by outside. Imps have closed circuit cameras, so they may know we’re here. Meaning we need to get out of here, fast.” 

“Hey Joe!” Chuckles called to the bartender, his speech somewhat slow from the alcohol. “Back door still work?” 

“Yeah, feel free.” Joe said. 

“Thanks, mate.” Chuckles looked at the crowd of clones. “Back door will take us down an alley, a few corners from there, you’re at a real quiet lift station. It’ll get us to 5127 quicker than the main one down the way.” 

“Right on, let’s get going.” Dynamo said. 

Chuckles led the way out the back of the nightclub, weaving through a few musty and barely-lit passageways that cut through the heart of the level’s residential quarter, before reaching the derelict lift station. 

“See? Nobody here.” Chuckles said. “Perfect.” 

“You’re still gold, Chuckles.” Noble said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Glad to have you back.” 

Chuckles blinked a few times, turning back towards the club for a moment. 

The rest of the clones boarded the lift. 

“Chuckles, c’mon.” Fix urged. “Don’t have much time.” 

Chuckles lingered, before finally hopping up the stairs to the lift, where they ascended back to the surface. 

Back to the light. 

* * * * 

Bail Organa stood at the edge of the landing platform, sunset echoing gorgeously across his purple robe. Coruscant’s vast skyline was his backdrop. 

A holopuck was in his hand. From it, the emittance of a figure, a Togruta. 

Beside him stood a woman, dressed in full white, her sepia hair swept up in a short cut. Her airspeeder was parked alongside the _Tantive_. 

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed and made contact,” Ahsoka said through the holopuck. “It won’t be easy.” 

“It never is, Ahsoka. But you must do all that you are able, to convince him.” The woman said. Her accent was noble, and her voice soft yet filled with urgency. 

“I will, Senators. See you soon.” 

Bail swiped at the image, and it faded back into the puck. 

“What do you think?” Bail asked her. 

“I’m not sure he can be swayed, but if anyone can do it, _she_ can.” 

“You’re more confident in this than I am, Mon.” Bail said. “We must be cautious to not alert the Emperor to this operation.” 

“I’ll remain here, and call the Senate’s pro forma session into an emergency draft meeting. He’ll be forced to attend.” 

Bail nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. That’s brilliant. Keep him busy while we move in on Vantu.” 

“I can imagine you don’t want Palpatine getting involved,” Mon Mothma replied. 

“It would be most unfortunate if he did,” Bail said. “One can only hope that the Moff is well distanced enough already from the Emperor already, that she won’t rely on him for support, should things get rough.” 

“If my personal intelligence reports are to be believed, it appears there is already a growing rift between them privately.” Mon replied. 

“So then the weapon she acquired _must_ be for her own gain.” Bail pondered. “This makes her more dangerous.” 

“It’s _imperative_ we formulate and strike her soon, before that power grows.” The Senator from Chandrila said. 

“I’m afraid of what will happen if we fail,” Bail confided ominously. “I trust in the ability of this clone unit. They are the best of their battalions. But it has been several years since they’ve seen combat.” 

“We can only hope for the best.” Mon said, returning to her speeder against the first glimmers of twilight. The high-altitude winds tugged at her robes. 

“Be safe, my old friend.” Bail called after her. “We both know how well Palpatine plays the game.” 

“That we do, Bail. Be careful up there.” 

“As always, Mon.” He bowed before her. 

Mon Mothma climbed into her speeder and directed the pilot to the nearest skylane, which was now twinkling with hundreds of electrified lights, floating delicately and geometrically above the cityscape. 

Bail watched her go, and another come. 

The TaggeCo expanded airspeeder screamed out of the same skylane that Mon disappeared into, and shot straight for the platform, landing on the sooty duracrete just a few meters from the _Tantive_ ’s loading ramp. 

While five clones departed, this time, six clones arrived. 

“Looks a bit tight in that backseat, troopers.” Bail said with a tease. 

“Only slightly.” Rex groaned as he freed himself from the airspeeder’s rear seat. Wolffe, Dynamo, and Chuckles followed. 

“Glad to see we could pick up another.” Bail nodded gracefully towards Chuckles. “Thank you for deciding to join us, Lieutenant.” 

“Yeah, couldn’t miss all the fun.” Chuckles retorted. 

Bail blinked, and Noble just patted him on the shoulder. 

“He tends to do that, from time to time.” 

“I don’t see the fun in this, Captain.”  
“That’s just him, Senator. He’s like that.” Noble chuckled. 

“Ah, I see.” Bail began. “Well, we should hurry onboard.” 

“Yes. Let’s _hurry_.” Wolffe pressed, motioning everyone to the loading ramp. “I dare say that we may have been followed.” 

“Oh dear,” Bail said, rushing himself onto the _Tantive_. “Captain!” He called from the stern of the corvette. “Get the engines primed, we’re leaving!” 

Raymus wasted no time, flicking a few switches and sending full power to the sublights, just as the last clone ran aboard. 

The ramp raised and the ship began the pre-flight routine, as Bail joined him in the cockpit. 

“Think we’ll run into any resistance? We didn’t stay very long, that should raise some warning bells at the control tower.” 

“I think we’ll be fine. Do we have a valid excuse?” 

“Picking up clones for an attack on Baradas? Sure, that’ll fly right under their sensors, Senator.” Raymus replied. 

“Now now Captain. Let’s not get too cocky.” 

“Only a joke, sir. Sit down, and buckle up, might get a little toasty.” 

“I trust your ability to get us out of any potential entanglement, Captain?” 

“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” Raymus smiled as the ship lumbered its way off the platform and surged into the sky, cutting between two supertowers. 

“CR70 _Tantive_ , this is Coruscant traffic control. What’s your clearance? You only landed an hour ago.” 

“Emergency shuttle run, Coruscant tower. Our vectors are primed. Are we cleared for departure?” 

“You are not. Draw your engines down. We’ve received word from the Imperial Senate to hold your takeoff.” 

“On whose authority?” 

“Emperor Palpatine.” 

“ _Damn_ ,” Raymus swore away from the comlink. 

“Can you _do this_ , Raymus?” Bail asked, a hint of worry in his eyes. 

“Yes.” He gulped. “Coruscant tower this is CR70 _Tantive_ , requesting immediate takeoff, we have a personal emergency, medical grade.” 

“We have galaxy-class facilities on Coruscant. No sense leaving the capital, _Tantive_. Stand down, fire it back to Platform 4640 for inspection.” 

“No need for that tower, we require specialized care. Was instructed to pick up a kiberculo patient for Senator Organa, for transport to an outpatient facility on.. Nar Shaddaa.” 

“Nar Shaddaa?” Came the reply, comlink crackling. “That’s Hutt Space, neutral-zone.” There came a pause. “ _Who is this_? What’s your pilot number?” 

Bail looked at Raymus with an urgency, as if to plead that he _do something_. 

“Pilot number is 446106, Alderaan Pilot Class AA.” 

“Antilles, eh? Well, you have the clearance level for takeoff, but not the destination.” 

“On whose authority?” 

“Again, Emperor Palpatine.” 

Raymus swore under his breath as the ship rose higher into the atmosphere, leaving the circular city patterns to fade in the distance. 

“CR70? Will need a response or I’ll have to scramble TIEs to intercept. Do you copy?” 

“ _Say something_!” Bail whispered. 

Raymus thought. 

“Coruscant tower, no can do. Diverting course to Naboo. Specialty-grade kiberculo treatment in Theed. Senator requested it personally.” 

There was silence on the other end. 

Then a faint bit of static. 

Raymus felt his heart rate increase as his hand tensed on the ship’s throttle, sweat beads accumulating between fingers. 

“CR70 standby for redirection. Deploying TIEs.” 

Raymus looked at Bail in alarm. 

“Coruscant tower, _stand down_ , there is no need for this. We have a high-priority target that requests medical attention on Naboo. _Do you copy_?” 

Silence again. 

“On whose authority?” The tower asked. 

Bail grew tired of such games, and stood to his feet, gaze focused directly on his Captain. 

Raymus eyed the local display monitor. Four targets beeped, on an intercept course. 

Noble and Chuckles reached the cockpit, followed by Rex and Fix. 

“What’s going on?” Noble asked. 

Raymus waved his hand to keep quiet. 

A few klicks behind them, four TIE fighters screeched past a group of glittering apartment towers, angling skyward in pursuit of the _Tantive_. 

“The patient I have onboard is Bail Organa himself, the Senator from Alderaan. He requested the ship pick him up from his personal apartment on Coruscant. I _am_ headed to Naboo, the Senator’s clearance code is Alpha Zeta Fourteen. I suggest you do _not_ fire on a member of the Imperial Senate.” Raymus returned, speaking clearly into the comlink. 

The tower didn’t respond. 

Raymus saw the TIEs growing closer on the monitor, the intercept would be in less than a minute. 

Growing silence. 

The display monitor went blank. 

“CR70 _Tantive_ , you are cleared for departure. Copy.” 

Raymus disconnected the comlink and shrunk back in the pilot’s chair, exhaling in relief. 

Bail offered him a smile. 

“Quick thinking, Captain.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

The clones looked on as realspeed became lightspeed, and Coruscant fell light-years behind them. 

Chuckles didn’t look back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four down, five to go.


	21. A Promise to Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final clone is picked up, by a group of old friends.

**XXI**

* * * * 

Dantooine -- 14 BBY 

The trip into town was short, but cold. The fierce winds of Dantooine’s high plains swept across the grasses as the sun fell, clipping the clones with a frigid bite of nature as they traveled onward. 

“How much further, Cap?” Chuckles asked, macrobinoculars scanning the plains for signs of life as the speeder swooped down an embankment. He lurched forward, and the binoculars rammed his face. 

“Sorry, Chuckles,” Noble said, easing on the throttle. Dynamo stifled laughter. 

“Can it, Dy.” Chuckles elbowed him, putting the binoculars away. 

“I don’t remember it being this far.” Fix said from the backseat of the speeder. 

“You never came into town much.” Noble replied. “Weren’t much of a drinker, were ya’ Fix?” 

Fix recalled their first few weeks on Dantooine, and while the others left each night for drinks in Khoonda, he stayed behind, working on any odd job or repair project that was left lying around in the hangar bays. 

“No, I suppose I wasn’t.” Fix replied. 

Mere minutes passed until they had arrived at their destination, beneath the clear sky of a late night. 

“Pretty quiet place still,” Dynamo remarked as the speeder buzzed into town. The clones glanced around to the empty shops, quiet plazas, and streets devoid of life. 

“Cantina’s the only sign of life here at night. It’s still a farming community,” Noble told him as they parked it outside the establishment. A drunken raucous and a shattering of glass could be heard inside, and the two clones opted to avoid it. 

“It’s where Karma met Sala,” Noble said with a smirk. 

“Sala?” Chuckles asked. 

“Yeah, it’s who he ‘settled down’ with,” he took a breath. “She’s lovely, you’ll like her.” 

Noble led the way through the streets, with the other three keeping watch as they paced behind him. 

The durasteel door loomed before them, Noble gave a sturdy knock and the door flowed open to the surprised look of Karma’s wife. She was glowing. 

“Sala!” Noble exclaimed. “Sorry we’re uh.. late this week. I know I called Karm the other day and told him we wouldn’t be able to make it.” He scratched the back of his head, squinting. “Eh.. change of plans?” 

She smiled and shook her head playfully. 

The other three clones pulled up within her view, and she paused. 

Sala lost her train of thought. 

“Are they--..?” She looked at Noble quickly. 

“Yeah.. yeah Sala they are.” Noble replied. 

She sighed, a growing worry rising in her chest. Suddenly, however, she smiled, cursing under her breath for forgetting her manners. 

“Come on in boys, forgive me.” 

They obliged. 

“Where’s Karm?” Noble asked, stepping in first. 

“Right here.” Came a familiar voice from the foyer. 

Karma stepped out, looking between his wife and Noble. 

The other three followed him one by one, and could only stare apologetically at their fifth squadmate. 

“It’s not Friday, didn’t think you were coming till--..” Karma’s own gaze found Dynamo, and then it found Fix, before resting on Chuckles. His sentence was caught mid-phrase and he went blank. His wife’s confusion grew as he attempted to gather his collapsing emotions. 

While Sala could not often tell the clones apart, Karma had no issue. 

The brotherhood and shared experiences between the soldiers left them with the innate ability to tell one from the other. A trait they boasted in pride. 

He knew them all. 

_His brothers_. 

Karma recalled the first gathering of Gale and Tempest Squads, deep in the bowels of Kamino’s Tipoca City. 

Much had changed since then. But their shared history had not. 

“Brothers..?” He managed to murmur. 

Dynamo nodded. “It’s us, Karm.” 

“You all got old..” Karma whispered. 

Chuckles and Fix grinned. 

“So did you.” Chuckles joked back. “And you got married.” 

Because of advanced aging, they appeared to be the human age of 35 or so, despite being closer to 18, but it didn’t faze them. They were only 10 years old during the war, yet looked -- and acted -- perhaps 20. Things were different for the clones. 

“Had to pass the time,” Karma shrugged. 

Sala slapped him tenderly on the shoulder for the remark and Noble chuckled under his breath. 

“It’s.. good to see you, brother.” Dynamo replied. He looked to be a mess of emotion, unsure if he wanted to scream, cry, hug the man, or all three. 

Karma tried to find the right words to say next, but he found only the overwhelming feeling of reunion. He was.. _happy_ , yet it felt bittersweet -- like a broken piece that should have never left -- finally returned. 

They had been through everything together. Their squads. War, death, sleeping, eating, breathing even. Tempest and Gale Squads had become a family, a tight knit unit of brothers that confided in each other. Ins and outs, secrets and embarrassments. Over the course of the war, they had become essentially one singular entity. Every field tactic, battle maneuver, modus operandi, all of it, became routine knowledge for them. 

Simply put, they _knew_ each other better than anyone ever could. The squads were the envy of the 404th, the finest soldiers, the best at what they did. 

And they always did it together. 

Until they split. 

Karma had felt it nearly more than Noble did, the weight of seeing the squad together again punched him in the gut, and he couldn’t resist the descent into a sobbing mess in the arms of his brothers. 

Sala stood behind, her hand stroking his back as he cried. She knew this was a long time coming, and she let them have their moment, offering the warmest of smiles to the other clones, as a silent thank you. Grateful that her children were tucked away in bed, she moved to close the door behind them, and hurried to the kitchen to grab a few glasses. 

Sala imagined that they would be looking to drink together. Talk. Catch up. Whatever it was old friends did. 

Not wanting to bother them, she left a bottle of spotchka on the table, which stood between a group of five glasses. Attempting to slip away into the den, she heard her husband. 

“Sala?” 

She came around the corner and re-entered the foyer. 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she started, licking her lips nervously. 

“No. Sala, come here. I want you to meet them.” 

Her soft features fluttered in the faint light of the hallway as she extended a hand to Dynamo first in greeting. But the clone took the hand and gave her a hug instead. 

“Thank you, Sala.” Dynamo mumbled between labored breaths. 

“For what?” She replied. 

“Taking care of him for us.” 

Now _she_ wanted to cry. 

“I love him more than the stars. You’re quite welcome.” 

Chuckles was next, and he did the same, clapping her on the back in some sort of bearhug. Parting, he beamed at her, before guiding her to Fix. 

“You must be the mechanic,” she said with a smirk. 

“How could you tell?” Fix asked. 

Her eyes fell to his belt. Attached was a small spanner. 

Fix shrugged with his own smile. 

“Guilty as charged. It’s a pleasure, Sala.” 

They embraced. 

As the five gathered in the foyer and began speaking amongst each other, Sala approached her husband once again. She wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned up to peck him on the cheek. 

“I left you some spotchka in the kitchen hun.” Sala said. 

“You’re the best, darling. If you’re tired, don’t let me keep you up. But you’re welcome to drink with us.” 

“You know I’m an early crasher, but I’ll keep the bed warm for ya.” She tapped his rear and waltzed off towards their room. 

“You got it made, Karma,” Chuckles quipped. 

“Maybe you can meet the kids tomorrow, yeah? They’d enjoy Dy’s temperament.” 

“Oh would they?” Dynamo’s eyebrow raised. 

“C’mon, let’s pour some drinks,” Noble urged, leading the way to the kitchen. 

Karma leaned behind the Captain and whispered to the other three. 

“They call him _Uncle Noble_.” 

“Uncle!?” Fix exclaimed. 

Noble turned and shot them both a look. 

“Sorry, Cap.” Karma raised his hands in innocence. 

“Sure you are. Let’s get drinking, boys. Today’s a good day. The five of us are _home_.” 

Dynamo found himself smiling, but inside he remembered why he was there. Why they were _all_ there. The urgency of it. Yet he sought not to ruin the atmosphere of their reunion, so he held off. 

Taking a seat, Karma was the first to pipe up while Noble poured the drinks. 

“So.. what’s this all about?” 

“I beg your pardon?” Noble asked. 

“We haven’t been together like this in almost five years. There’s a reason, isn’t there?” 

The others were silent. 

“You said Bail arrived the other day, Cap. Does he have something to do with this?” 

From just beyond the kitchen, against the wall of the bedroom hallway, Sala stood quietly, listening to them talk. 

Noble dropped his voice a bit. 

“Yeah.. yeah he does, Karm.” 

Fix and Dynamo grew grim. Chuckles was stone-faced. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Karma asked slowly. 

“You remember, on Quermia, when we reached the palace?” Fix jumped in. Noble looked at him, silently thankful he had backup. 

“Yeah, not something I’d ever forget.” Karma said. 

“Do you remember how far you were behind us? You saw the fleet in tatters?” Noble added. 

“I do. We were stranded.” 

“But not for the reason you think.” Dynamo said. 

“What?” 

“One ship survived, Karm.” Noble said. “The _Prosecutor_.” 

“Admiral Vantu survived?” Karma blinked a few times, setting the glass of spotchka down and leaning forward, caressing his temples. 

“It appears so, yeah.” Noble replied. “I’m sorry to spring this on you Karm, I really am. I know you were confident in what you saw up there that day. But it seems like you were just a little late.” 

Karma did not speak. 

In the hallway, Sala’s eyes closed, and she silently mourned her husband’s inevitable pain. 

“What do you mean? I saw them.” 

“Karma.” 

“I saw _all of them_! They were all _destroyed._ ” He stood from the table. “You’re lying, aren’t you?” 

“Why would we _lie to you_ , Karm?” Dynamo insisted. “We all came together because this woman is a _threat_ , someone who’s become very dangerous in the Empire. We _need_ your help.” 

“And you think we can just get back together like the good ol’ days and pull out our DC-15s against the bad guys?” Karma snapped. 

He wanted to return. Deep down. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to go back to his old life. But to face a former commanding officer weighed heavily upon his conscience. Clones respected a rigid structure of command in their past lives. To break it, even years later would be going against everything they had fought for. 

Not that it hadn’t been all a lie anyways. 

“Karm, calm down, listen to us. We aren’t lying to you, brother.” Noble said. “Please.” 

“I _can’t_ do this anymore, this life, I can’t live it. I have..” Karma frantically pointed to the darkened hallway to his children’s rooms. “..the children. Sala.. I can’t..” The tears came rather suddenly, and Fix stood up to console him. 

“Listen, Karm. Nobody’s forcing you to do this. _Nobody_. We want what’s best for you, and if this is it, then you stay here. Understood?” Noble told him. “We came to you last, reluctantly, because of your family. The last thing we want to do is drag you out there against your will.” 

“But you need me.. you’re my brothers. We stick together. Remember?” He said between tears. 

“You did tell me you wanted to serve again, did you mean it?” Noble said. 

“I-I did.. but I don’t know if I can do _this_. My children..” 

“Don’t worry about us, Karm.” Sala stepped from the hall, and the clones turned to look at her. 

“Were you listening?” Karma whispered. 

She nodded. 

“Sala.. I can’t leave you, or the children. I _can’t_.” 

“They need you Karm. You can go make a difference.” 

“I don’t know if I can.” 

“You _can_. Because that’s the man I married. You’ve got a good heart, and you’re brave as hell. You can do this. This is what you do best. You miss it. I _know_ you do. _Go do it_. Take care of things.” 

She found his arms. 

Fix looked on, his heterochromatic eyes darting to each of the room’s occupants. Noble looked at Dynamo, who inclined his head softly. 

“Karm. Remember. Nobody is forcing you to do this. You have a choice,” Dynamo said. 

“We know.” Sala said. “This is what he needs to do.” 

Karma, embracing his wife fiercely, wiped a few tears that had drained down his cheek. 

“What if I don’t make it back, Sala?” 

“Then our children will grow up knowing their father was a hero, and a _great man_.” 

“I don’t wanna live without you three.” 

“Come home to us, then.” She looked into her husband’s eyes, and offered him a smile. 

“I promise.” He nodded, taking a deep breath. “You know I’ll always come back to you.” 

Karma leaned in and gingerly placed a kiss on her forehead. He turned back to his brothers, seated around the kitchen table, wrapping an arm around Sala. 

“So.” He began, wiping away the final tear. “She left us to die on Quermia?” 

“To be fair, if she hadn’t left us, we’d be chipped.” Noble replied. 

“That’s a good point. I suppose it’s more a symbolic anger then.” 

“Leave no man behind.” Chuckles said. “We owe her for our lack of chips, but we can’t excuse what she’s been doing in the Colonies.” 

“What’s going on?” He gripped Sala tighter, as she began trembling in nervousness for her husband. Karma kissed her on the cheek before starting to stroke her hair, all in attempts to soothe her. 

“Stole a weapon from the Jedi, plans to use it to rise against the Emperor.” Noble answered. 

“The _Emperor_?” Karma exclaimed. “We won’t stand a chance if she has power like that.” 

“She most likely enslaved a small group of Togruta colonists on Baradas. Bail’s intelligence said she frequents the planet more often than any other. We can’t let this continue. Someone has to put a wrench in her plans.” Fix added. “No pun intended on the wrench part.” 

“And that someone is.. _us_ , right?” Karma asked. 

“It’s all we got, Karm.” Noble said. “That’s why we came to you. We need a scout sniper. A recon officer.” 

Karma’s eyes found those of Sala’s, and he gazed into them, looking for silent approval. She softened her expression, and leaned in to kiss him. 

He got what he needed. 

“I’ll be back, Sala. You know I will.” 

“I know.” 

“You don’t sound so sure.” 

She was quiet. 

“I just don’t wanna lose my husband.” 

“You won’t.” 

A noise was heard from the hallway, and the group craned their necks to see what caused the commotion. 

Two children, a boy, and a girl, emerged from the darkness, rubbing their eyes. 

“What’s all the noise mommy?” Tyno murmured. “It’s super duper late.” 

Sala giggled, mood lightening. 

“I’m sorry, my sweets. Daddy and I were up talking with some friends.” She knelt to them, wrapping them in her arms, as they gazed up at the four guests. 

“They all look like Daddy and Uncle Noble.” Tali whispered. “Are they all uncles _too_?” 

Karma chuckled, kneeling to his children. 

“Kids. Uncle Noble and I have other brothers too. Do you remember when I mentioned them to you?” 

Tyno nodded, and looked up at them again. 

“What are your names?” 

Dynamo got up first, reaching a hand out to shake the smaller hands of the children.  
“You can call me Uncle Dy.” 

Chuckles came next. 

“Uncle Chuck sounds cool, but Uncle Chuckles is probably best.” 

Fix met them last, offering perhaps the galaxy’s biggest grin at his new niece and nephew. 

“I’m Uncle Fix. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I remember your name from Daddy!” Tali said gleefully. “You’re the one who fixes stuff, right?” 

“Yeah. I fix stuff. You got somethin’ for me?” Fix asked with a faux sense of seriousness. 

“Hold on!” Tali ran back to her room, and returned with one of her favorite toys, a wind-up Dantooine horse. Only the wind-up piece was unfortunately broken. 

Fix had the gears rewound in under sixty seconds. 

“You’re my new favorite.” Tali said with a childish grin. 

“ _Ahem_ , what about me, miss?” Noble said. 

“You can’t fix my _horse_!” Tali shot back, sticking her tongue out at the Captain. 

Karma muffled laughter. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, laserbrain.” Noble mocked. 

“They have Fix to.. fix things for them. What about me?” Dynamo asked. 

“You can teach them how to punch things.” Fix said. 

“Yeah, and I guess I’ll be teaching them how to buy whiskey without ID.” Chuckles quipped. 

Karma shot him a glare, but his wife found it quietly funny. 

“Sorry.” Chuckles said sheepishly, avoiding Karma’s eyes. “Not my proudest moment.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Karma said, deadpanning. 

“Sure, sure. Of course, daddy-o.” Chuckles replied. 

Noble shook his head, standing to his feet. 

“We can’t stay long, Karm. Don’t have much time to prepare.” 

Karma stood from his son and gave his brothers each a passing glance. 

“I suppose you’re right.” He looked at Sala, who rose to meet him. 

“It’s time?” She asked. 

Karma nodded. 

The group of clones, one by one, found their way to the foyer as Karma retreated to his bedroom. 

Sala and the children stood to send them off. 

“Thank you.” Sala told them. “All of you.” 

“For?” Dynamo asked. 

“You brought him home. I hadn’t seen him that happy in a couple of years.” 

“ _You_ make him happy, Sala.” Noble urged. “More so than I ever saw him during the war.” 

She offered a shy smile, hugging Noble in goodbye. 

“Take care of him for me, Noble.” 

“We all will. Watch the kids, keep ‘em out of trouble.” 

“It’ll be a lot easier without having to keep their _father_ out of trouble, too.” 

Noble laughed, and gave her a parting kiss on the cheek in respect. 

“Bye, Sala.” 

“I saw that.” Came a voice from the den. 

Karma returned, his full trooper armor decorating his frame, white and green scout helmet held against his belt. 

“Looks like new.” Fix commented. 

“He looks like a doll off the showroom floor.” Chuckles said. 

“I think he looks hot.” Dynamo added. 

Karma tossed Dynamo a playful wink, approaching his wife and children to say goodbye. 

Tyno exploded in excitement, and his small hand reached out to feel the plastoid of his father’s armor. Every notch, groove, scratch, and scar. 

“ _Daddy_! You never showed me this! Who are you?” 

“Daddy is a soldier, Tyno. He’s gotta go away for a while.” 

Tali frowned, clutching her father’s leg in defiance. 

“ _No_ , you gotta stay, Daddy.” 

“Tali, let Daddy go, he has something important he has to do with your uncles.” Sala said. 

“How long will he be gone?” Tyno ogled up to his mother’s eyes. 

“I’m not sure.” She said, looking to her husband for support. 

“Not long, kiddos. I’ll be back in a week, yeah? I promise.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, kissing him on the forehead, and twirled his daughter’s locks, before leaving a kiss on her button nose. 

“I’ll miss you daddy.” Tyno said. “Please be okay.” The boy began to cry. 

“Yes, please be okay.” Tali said. Her sobs came soon after. 

Karma took them both in his arms, and held them for what felt like forever. He didn’t want to let go. 

But eventually, he had to. 

Standing to leave, he leaned in to Sala, who met him halfway with a lingering kiss. 

“Be safe, my love.” She urged, a few tears forming at the corners of her eyes. 

“Always.” Karma said. “I’ll come back to you.” 

“You better.” 

“I love you, Sala.” 

“I love you.” 

The clones departed from the foyer, exiting into the crisp darkness of Khoonda’s streets, their only source being the dimly lit street lamps positioned on each corner. 

Tali and Tyno waved energetically, as their own tears trickled from their little eyes. Their mother wept in silence, watching her beloved for what could be the last time. 

“I love you all!” Karma called out to them, sniffling. 

“ _I love you_!” They called in unison, blowing kisses and giving him their biggest air hugs from afar. 

As the reformed Gale Squad carved a trail down the street and ducked left at the first intersection, Karma was the last one to turn. 

He looked back one last time, lovingly meeting the eyes of the family he created -- who were not bred like him -- before following his brothers, as he had done thousands of times before. 

To war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already writing Chapter 26, lmao, I just have to space these releases out so I don't burn anyone's attention. I think it'll finish around 30-32 chapters, with Act 3 beginning around Chapter 24. That's the plan anyway, could end up a little shorter. We'll see.


	22. Eventide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Auratera, Orren Kara is faced with a choice.

**XXII**

* * * * 

Auratera -- 14 BBY 

Morning rose. 

Orren Kara hadn’t kept track of the days, but he knew he’d seen well over a thousand sunrises at this point. 

None of them disappointed him. 

Arising at the crack of dawn, he always took to tending his garden, as was commonplace in the summer months. The harvest would be within two weeks, and he needed to prepare. 

The typical boots that he used to slog through the mud and puddles had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned the night before, ready to get dusty again with a day’s work. 

Via his warm-weather robe, a lightweight hood found his head, and out he went. 

Milling about for what felt like hours, the sweat began to drain from his temples. The heat of the summer day was brutal, despite only lasting for a handful of hours. 

He already wished for it to be night. 

Finding respite beneath the Uneti, he chugged water from a canteen, controlling his breathing before he returned to the laborious task of maintaining his garden and surrounding property. 

Looking up from a final sip, his eyes wandered beneath the hood of another, standing at the edge of the garden. 

He stood to his feet, dropping the canteen to the grass that pushed its way between the Uneti’s roots. 

“Still no leaves I see.” She said. 

“It’s only been a few days, Ahsoka.” Orren replied. 

She pulled the hood from her montrals, letting it fall. 

“Why are you back?” He pressed. 

“For reasons beyond the two of us. We need your help, Orren.” 

“I’m not leaving Auratera.” 

Orren’s stubbornness would most likely have irritated anyone else in a rather short time. 

Ahsoka was not anyone else. 

Sweeping across the garden, robe fluttering about in the breeze, her composure remained collected. 

“Why do you think I return to you, Orren?” 

“You just said it, didn’t you? You want my help.” 

“ _Need_ your help. Things become more difficult without you.” 

“I made a promise to myself to not leave this planet.” 

“You also made a promise as a Jedi to strive for peace. Act selfless, in defense of others.” 

“That was then. This is now.” 

“What changed?” 

“ _Everything_.” 

“I don’t consider myself a Jedi anymore,” Ahsoka said. “That doesn’t mean I still don’t strive to perfect the ideals I once held. To act as a selfless being, to bring mercy to those who earn it, justice to those deserve it. You don’t have to call yourself a Jedi to _truly_ act as one.” 

“Sounds like a mantra.” 

“It’s rather effective.” She smiled. “You never did ask what it was I’m trying to recruit you for.” 

“Why would I? I’m not leaving either way.” 

“What if I told you that your men needed you.” 

“I’d say you’re lying, to get me off this rock.” 

“Search your feelings, then. Search mine.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You _can’t_ , or you _won’t_?” Ahsoka asked. 

“Ahsoka, I can’t do this. I have things to do, please.” 

“So the great Orren Kara just rolls over to the Imperial juggernaut then. That’s how this ends.” 

“I’m not rolling over to anyone.” 

“You are though. How long do you think it’ll be before the Empire finds you here? Hm?” 

“They won’t. I’m cut off.” 

“But what about your tree? What about the _cave_?” 

She _did_ know about the cave. Orren looked at the ground. 

“They won’t.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I don’t have a _choice_ , Ahsoka! I came here, one of the quietest worlds in the Outer Rim, to retire. To settle down. To live my life _peacefully_ , away from politicking, away from the war. Away from _all of it_! I will not let the values that led to the destruction of our Order guide my path to oblivion.” 

“Then you’ve already surrendered.” She said sullenly. “You’ve accepted defeat.” 

“What else is there? _They won_. They outplayed us. How many times do I have to tell you this?” 

“Your men don’t seem to agree with you.” 

“Ugh. My men. What is this you’re going on about with my men? Hm? What are they doing?” 

“They’re preparing to assault an Imperial Moff. You should be leading them.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You won’t stand up for what’s right?” 

“I tried. We tried. They knocked us down. We showed too much of our hand and they chopped it off. It’s a brutal game, Ahsoka. I’m surprised you haven’t learned this by now.” 

“I have. That’s why I’m still playing.” 

“You take pleasure in being beaten while you’re down?” Orren scoffed. 

“No. I take no pleasure in any of it. But I know what’s right and what’s wrong. I know when to stand up and fight. In my life, when you find people who need your help, you help them, no matter what.” 

“Then you keep doing that. I’m sure you’re doing a great job out there.. really.” 

“I could be doing a better job if you were out there too.” 

Orren sighed. 

“Why? Why can’t I live here in peace? Why must you insist on coming here and trying to haunt me with my past? Can’t I just be alone?” 

“When we took those Jedi oaths, when we made our pledges as padawans, we knew this was the life we were taking. There was no going back, no quitting, none of it. You ran away because you’re scared.” 

“I ran away because I’m smart enough to recognize there’s no chance.” 

“That’s not the point. You fight anyways. Take a stand for what you believe in. You don’t back down and let the enemy walk all over you. That’s not what we signed up to do. We’re keepers of the peace.” 

“Then why were we soldiers for three years?” Orren said, stooping down to pull out a few weeds he had noticed. 

“Because the old Order was flawed. We can grow from that, as survivors. We can become what they outgrew, return to the roots of what made the Jedi such powerful forces of light.” 

“Sounds like a pipe dream.” 

“You’re just too scared.” 

“Scared of _what_ , Ahsoka? Tell me.” 

She stared at him, unflinching. 

“You’re scared to lose again. To let those men, and _yourself_ , down.” 

Orren shook his head, trying to focus on the garden maintenance. 

“Am I wrong, Orren?” 

He didn’t respond. 

“That’s what I thought.” She sighed. “I have so much hope for you, still.” 

“Sorry to keep letting you down.” Orren said. 

“You’re only letting yourself down by doing this.” She replied. 

Again, he didn’t respond. 

“You were once a great Jedi. You learned from one of our greatest masters. Don’t dishonor his legacy. Don’t throw it away. Fight for something that you believe in.” 

For a third time, he had no reply. He only found a question for her, some time after. 

“Why are my men taking on an Imperial Moff?” He finally asked. 

She fell quiet. 

“Ahsoka?” 

“The Admiral you thought dead on Quermia, Eera Vantu, is alive.” 

Orren’s rake hit the dirt. He nearly fell over. 

“What?” 

“The Admiral survived the battle, escaped with her life, kissed the Emperor’s shoes and became a Moff, with powerful backing. She’s been carving a path of terror through the Colonies.” She bit her lip, deciding on the fly what else to tell him. “She’s the one behind the theft from Ossus. Our temple was desecrated by her troops, and now, according to intel reports, she’s trying to establish a new order to challenge the Emperor.” 

“How did she survive?” 

“I don’t know, Orren. But we have more pressing issues than wondering about her activities five years ago. She’s an active threat now, and it could cause a fracture within Imperial ranks.” 

“Let them fight, then.” 

“It’s not that simple. She’s become too large a threat to her galactic region to ignore. The artifact she stole from Ossus, we think it’s a weapon. A _living_ weapon, Orren. I have no idea how to approach that alone.” 

“Anything else she has in her possession?” He asked her. 

“Yeah.” She began. “She’s got a colony of my people under her boot on Baradas. That’s where we’re going, to free them, and to get this artifact back before Palpatine pries it from her dead body.” 

“So what do you need me for, then?” 

“To help us, any way you can. There aren’t many of us, and we haven’t devised a working plan yet. But we need all the help we can get.” 

Orren reached for his fallen rake, gripping it tensely between his calloused fingers as he watched her speak. 

“Ahsoka..” his tone fell softer. “You know I can’t.” With a small shake of his head, he looked down, in apparent shame. 

“Please.” 

“I wish I could. But I can’t go back out there. I _won’t_ fail those men again.” 

She looked at him, a million thoughts running between their eyes. A million things unsaid. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“ _You_ can stay here and tend to your garden. _We_ will free my people.” 

“Ahsoka..” 

“Don’t, Orren.” She raised a hand, tone edging sterner. “You’ve made your point clear.” 

“I wish I co--..” 

“The only person stopping you is yourself. But you don’t have to worry, anymore. I won’t be returning here again.” 

“Ahsok--..” It was futile. She had already turned to leave. 

“Give them my best, will you? Tell them I’m sorry.. my men.” He called after her. 

She stopped her advance, glancing back over her shoulder, as the hood was brought up again. 

“Tell them yourself.” 

As he stood in the shadow of the Uneti, he couldn’t bear to watch her go again. So he looked inward. 

Finding nothing he wished to see there either, his gaze finally returned to the bluff in front of his hut. 

But she was gone. 

Orren tried to return to the garden chores, but he found himself too distracted. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he attempted to find peace. 

_“Orren?”_

_“Yes, Master?”_

_“What did I tell you about inner strength?”_

_“It flows through me, from the Force itself.”_

_Master and Apprentice stood on one of the Temple’s upper terraces, overlooking the nighttime skylines of Coruscant. Twinkling lights pirouetted across Orren’s irises as he looked out over the vast city._

_“That’s right.” Plo Koon laid a hand to rest on his padawan’s shoulder.  
Orren was no older than a mere fourteen. _

_“Will the Force fight for us, Master?”_

_“Not directly, no. You must channel its energy into your own._ You _are the conduit of the Force, it is not a conduit for you.”_

_“I understand.”_

_“We make the decisions that lead to either success, or consequence. We must learn from either, accordingly. Treat every outcome as a lesson, to gain wisdom.”_

_“I’ll do my best.”_

_Master Plo only smiled, kneeling down beside the boy._

_“I know you will, Orren. I’ve taught you well, and you’ve far exceeded my expectations as a Jedi. Just remember to always rely on your inner strength and abilities first, while using the guidance of the Force second.”_

_“I will, Master. I promise.”_

_It was a promise he soon broke, relying more on using the Force to determine the outcomes of his engagements, and letting the lesson slip between the cracks over the years._

_“One day, there will come a time where I am no longer a part of this universe. When that time comes you must be ready, my padawan. For the scales must always be balanced.” Master Plo said._

_“Balanced?” Orren asked. “What do you mean?”_

_“I sense a coming shift in the Force, Orren. The living energy is out of balance. Something must be done to right it.”_

_“Will we know when it happens, Master?”_

_“I’m sure we will. But for now, you learn all that you can. One day, you will have to rely on yourself, rather than myself, or the Force.”_

_“You mean the Force won’t help me?”_

_Plo Koon chuckled._

_“The Force works in mysterious ways, Orren. While we can direct its energy through ourselves, the greater Force will not be the one making your life’s decisions. It only guides us down our path._ You _must be the one to take the first step.”_

_“What if I’m not ready, Master?”_

_“Nobody ever is, Orren. But when the time is right, you will know what to do. I promise.”_

_They stared together, Master and Apprentice, out into the brilliant night of Coruscant._

Orren stood solemn in the garden, hands resting atop the rake. His watchful eyes looking out over the bluff, imagining it as the terrace of the Temple. 

Auratera was far from Coruscant, but it would have to do. 

He pushed on for another hour or so, trying to stay focused on the work at hand. Finding it impossible, he retired for the evening. 

Orren couldn’t sleep the entire night, tossing and turning within his small bunk, constantly looking at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. 

_Why can’t I do what’s right?_

The answer did not immediately come to him. 

Emerging the next morning with a faltering determination to finish the chores he set forth, he took to the garden early, and began work in earnest. 

As the day grew shorter, he found respite in the cooler temperatures that had rushed in from the valley. With it, came a stronger breeze, and the midsummer gale carried the hood from his head and dropped it to his shoulders. Looking back to fetch it, he saw a boy at the edge of the garden fence. 

“Hi, Orren.” 

“What did I tell you about sneaking up on me, Luko?” A Jedi cut off from the Force could no longer sense the approach of another, something he admitted he missed, whenever Luko came knocking. 

“Sorry. I saw the lady came back yesterday and wanted to see if she was here today. But I was too late.” 

Orren covered his face with a hand.  
“Luko.” 

“ _What_?” The boy stammered. “I wanted to meet another Jedi.” 

“You shouldn’t get involved in this stuff, Luko. It’s dangerous.” 

“Why not? She was alone.” 

“What if she wasn’t, though? What if she was followed by someone dangerous, someone who wanted to kill both of us? They could have easily killed you too. _Please_ be careful.” 

“I’m not afraid, Orren.” 

“You should be, there are some terrible people in this galaxy.” 

“I’m brave.” The boy stood up straight against the fence, flexing an unseen wave of pride. 

“Bravery doesn’t always prevail.” 

“Why are such a _downer_ , Orren?” 

The man didn’t reply. 

“Huh? I thought you were a Jedi. You don’t seem to be acting very brave to me.” 

Orren took a deep breath, closing his eyes. 

“A lot’s going on, Luko. You wouldn’t understand right now.” 

“What do you mean? Your Jedi friend shows up and it makes you all pouty?” 

“It’s more than that.” 

“What is it then?” The boy’s curiosity was ever-hungry, and he pursued Orren for more. 

“She wants me to come back.” 

“To go be a Jedi again?” Luko stared wide-eyed. 

“Yes.” 

“Why don’t you go? You’d kick _some ass_!” 

“Who taught you that word, Luko?” 

“Sorry.. I hear it from the matron a lot.” He was easily influenced, the matron was known for her slight swears whenever a child broke something, or a creation in the kitchen blew up disastrously. 

Orren hid his amusement. 

“Why, are you scared?” Luko asked. 

Even the boy seemed to see right through him. 

“I’m not scared.” 

“Yes you are, you’re shaking.” 

Orren’s trembles were the least of his concern, but they weren’t as easily veiled as his growing exhaustion. 

“Listen, Luko, now isn’t a good time for a visit, why don’t you come back tomorrow?” He urged. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“ _Because_. It’s.. just not right now.” 

“Go be a Jedi, Orren.”  
“ _Luko, please_.” 

The boy stood quietly, unresponsive, as Orren’s trembling grew. 

Luko approached him slowly, reaching out to grab his loose hand. He said nothing, only gazing up to the man he so desperately wished was his adopted father. 

As a Jedi, Orren had never truly understood what it was like to feel emotion. Personal emotion. He had a brief glimpse of it as a child, on the streets of the Lower City, but as a Jedi padawan and later Jedi Knight, it became far more alien to him. 

Standing under the Uneti, he let tears flow, and grasped the boy’s hand in return. 

“It’s okay, Orren.” Luko spoke softly. “You could do great things out there. I’m sure they need you.” 

“They do.” He murmured. “And I was too afraid to go.” 

“Go be a Jedi again then.” Luko said, still craning his head up at his taller guardian. 

“I’m not as strong as I used to be. I can’t let them down, I can’t _fail them_.” 

“Then don’t! You’re a _Jedi!_ The whole galaxy used to make up stories about you. Legends.” 

“But they weren’t all good stories, Luko. Some of them hated us.” 

“You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Orren. You won’t fail! And if you do, you do what you always told me, dust yourself off and keep going. Right?” Luko replied, the zeal swelling in the boy’s voice. 

A _boy_ was giving him a pep talk. Orren was beginning to realize that he had been doing it all wrong. 

“You’re right….” 

Orren felt a pull. Not from Luko, or from the distant winds twisting and turning their way from the equatorial lowlands, but from the Force itself. 

It was something he had not felt in five years. 

For once, he decided to walk the path himself. He allowed it in. 

The Force needed no further invitation. Its return was a familiar presence, like welcoming a friend back after a long trip. The once-dark galaxy lit up like a dazzling array of lights, and the luminous beings still existent he suddenly became aware of. He reached out within the Force and felt their energy brushing against his, mingling and dancing around like wisps in the night. 

There were not many left. It felt far emptier than before. Lonelier. Only bits and pieces of what was, were what remained. None of the beings felt familiar to him, not like before. 

He was islanded in a stream of stars. 

On Auratera, the Force was strong. The vergence in the cave was a drifting ardor, filling him with exuberance. 

His planted Uneti tree was the strongest presence of all. It filled him with a vitality unmatched by anything he had experienced before. It was teeming within the Force, it’s life-energy surging through his own spirit, empowering his conscience and bringing the harmony he so desperately desired. 

_The starry backdrop of Coruscant gave way to the echoes of dawn, piercing the shadow of night like an angel ascending to the clouds._

_Orren turned, and his Master was gone._

_He stood alone on the terrace._

_And still, the Force flowed, as it always did._

_He was the conduit. The steps were_ his _to take, and his alone._

Orren led Luko over to the bluff that draped across the terrain before his hut. 

They stood together, watching the village down below. The parallels became clear to him. 

What once was the cityscape of the Republic capital, had become the flourishing forests of an Outer Rim settlement. 

“Will you go?” Luko asked him. 

Orren nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes. 

“Why are you crying?” The boy sounded concerned. 

“Because I realized you’re right, and that I’ve been living the life of a coward.” Orren whispered. “No more.” 

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” 

“Of course I will.” His mood had mellowed greatly. “But you must promise me something, Luko.” 

“What’s that?” 

“If I don’t come back,” Orren said, “take care of this tree for me, okay? It is one of two things that mean the most to me in this galaxy.” 

“Well, what’s the other?” The boy asked. 

Orren smiled, fluffing Luko’s hair playfully. 

“That’s where the second promise comes in,” he replied. “You’ll have to take care of yourself too.” 

“But, I live with the matron. Somebody will take your hut if you don’t come back, Orren.” 

“Then you stop them.” 

“I’m just a kid.” 

“You have the power to be more. Remember what I said in the cave? About you?” 

“Yes.. you meant it, didn’t you?” 

Orren looked down at him. 

“I did.” 

“I’ll take care of the tree, Orren. I promise. Just _come back_ , okay?” 

He took Luko’s hand back into his own, and knelt down. 

“I’ve been cowardly, and I’ve been a fool, Luko. I was arrogant, and stubborn. For that, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. You’re still my favorite Jedi.” Luko smiled, reaching forward to hug him. 

“You take care of yourself, okay kid?” Orren asked, watching the trees swaying from within the embrace. 

“I will. You take care of yourself too.” Luko said between sniffles. The boy had begun to cry. 

Orren parted, and lifted a finger to Luko’s chin, before wiping the tears from his cheeks. 

“You’ll be okay. You have the Force, right here.” He motioned to the tree. “Trust in it, feel it flowing through you, and it will never lead you astray.” Orren blinked away a few more tears of his own. “Just remember, _you_ make your own decisions. It’s up to you to walk your own path, nobody can do it for you.” 

Luko nodded, and Orren stood back to his feet. 

“It’s time to go, isn’t it?” He asked. 

The skies were growing darker, and the brief six hours of sunlight were dissolving in a beautiful mirage of rose-colored explosions painting the sky, with hints of lilac streaming through the clouds. 

“I should make haste for Harron, if I’m to find passage offworld. You should return to the matron, it’s getting dark.” 

Luko said nothing, wiping away another tear. 

“What is it?” 

“I want you to go, and be a hero. But I also _don’t_ want you to go.” The boy seized forward and latched onto Orren’s leg, holding him tightly. 

“There are people that need my help, Luko. I have to go.” 

The boy knew, and after a minute or so, he accepted it. 

Luko let go. 

“Come, before I leave I have one thing left to show you.” 

Orren ducked inside the hut, securing it of any potential valuables and loading them into his knapsack. At the bottom of his tiny wardrobe, he fetched a near immaculate set of bronze garments, not worn since the days of the war. Washed and pressed, he was eager to see how they fit again. 

But now was not the time. 

Beneath his bed, he fetched a mahogany lockbox, constructed out of the finest wood the merchants in Harron had to offer, adorned in beautiful custom designs, ornately sprawled across the delicate exterior. 

“Open it.” Orren said to Luko, who joined him inside. 

The lock was already unlocked, and all Luko had to do was lift. 

Inside, the lockbox was rather empty. It held only one item. 

The ethromite sheen still sparkled in the candlelight, as it did when it was first constructed, and silver hues with engraved gold overtones painted across the saber’s hilt. It had not been seen in years. The weapon’s precise engravings were carved with oridium, it had the design of a golden tree rising from the base of the hilt, with branches and roots wrapping and weaving their way around the saber to the pinnacle. 

The first person to hold it again was Luko. 

“Go on.” Orren urged. “Hold it steady, and ignite it.” 

Luko wrapped his small fingers around the hilt, finding a comfortable grasp on the finger grips, before letting his thumb press up. 

Blue flame sizzled from the boy’s hands, casting a faint aura of sapphire across the hut’s dim interior. 

Luko gazed up at the blade in awe, careful in handling it, before striking a pose. 

Orren laughed. 

“Look at you. You’re already better than you think.” 

Luko returned the blue fire to the hilt in which it came, and slowly held it out to its owner. 

“A Jedi’s weapon.” Orren breathed, clasping the hilt in his hands, running his fingers across its familiar features. 

_It’s good to see you again, old friend_. 

The saber found its place along his sash. 

Hoisting the knapsack over his back, he replaced his garden boots with his old knightboots, and ushered Luko towards the door. 

“It’s time.” He said softly. 

Orren locked the door to the hut, taking the small key and dropping it into Luko’s hands. 

“Watch over it for me,” Orren said. 

“You know I will.” The boy responded. 

With a smile, they began down the path together, until Orren paused. 

“What is it?” Luko asked. 

The Jedi looked back at his tree, watching its branches arcing towards the sky. While the dusk made it hard to see, he ran his eyes down each branch, every groove, and all the roots, remembering it. 

With an incline of his head, he wished it farewell, as the pair set off down the path for Klaria. 

At the gates of the village, Luko heard the call of the matron, who spotted him from down the road. 

Orren knelt again, as the guards were preparing to close up for the night. 

“You _promise_?” Luko asked. 

“I _promise_ , I’ll come back.” Orren said, smiling. 

“You better keep your word, Mister Jedi.” Luko playfully threatened. 

“Or else what?” 

“I’ll build my own saber and come find you!” 

“That’s a duel I think I’d enjoy.” 

“Alright, boys. Time to lock it up,” the guards told them, and the main gate to Klaria began rumbling across the dirt. 

“This is goodbye, for now.” Orren said, helping Luko over the gate’s threshold, before stepping back out. He nodded to the guards. 

Luko watched him as the gate began splitting them apart. 

“You’ll always be my hero, Orren.” 

Orren lifted a hand to wave. He drew up the knapsack to his shoulders for support, and turned to begin his journey to Harron. 

He turned on his heels one last time, as the gate was nearly shut. 

“Luko!” 

“Yeah?” 

“ _May the Force be with you_!” Orren simply smiled at him, before departing in finality. 

Luko watched him go, until the gate had closed. 

Orren released the tears as they came, addressing them one by one as he made his way down the road. He had a long trek ahead. 

Up above the sleeping village, just beyond the darkened hut of a hermit, the branches of the Uneti tree reached out through the Force in goodbye. 

As the breezes of the forest’s eventide whispered through the conifers, and sang down a winding path to the Uneti, they barely rustled the first blossom of a golden leaf. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally gotten around to adding in planned chapter titles! Also done a little bit of tweaking in certain conversations over Chapters 17 & 18\. Starting to get some ideas for a big and sprawling Anakin fic that would probably get way more eyes than this. But that's still a bit down the road.


	23. Two Moffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the finale of Act Two, Moff Vantu prepares for what is to come.

**XXIII**

* * * * 

Shili System -- 14 BBY 

Empty space. 

She stared into nothingness. 

From the bridge of a black and gray Venator Star Destroyer, her icy gaze broke through the transparisteel of the bridge’s expansive viewport. 

Her eyes found nothing but distant star systems and the black vacuum of the cosmos. 

“Sir.” 

The Moff remained fixated forward. 

“What is it?” She asked. 

“Shall I set course for Baradas?” The officer spoke. 

“No. Remain in an orbital tangent over Shili until I give the order.” 

“Yes sir, of course.” 

While Shili and Baradas were considered in the same system, they were split politically down a line into two subdivisions of the galaxy, with Baradas in the Colonies and Shili in the Expansion Region, with only a fraction of the Inner Rim divide reaching the system. It was a galactic crossroads, yet not frequently passed through. 

Eera Vantu took advantage of that. 

She enjoyed her time on the bridge of her ship. While no longer the captain, she commanded a superior presence that dwarfed Captain Mahfe’s in stature. Any order he gave, could be quickly belayed and overruled by her in a second. 

The ship was still hers in all but writing, and the crew would never dare speak otherwise. 

Moff Vantu felt the hem in her obsidian cape trickle through the clinical air. Someone had approached. 

“Who is it?” She asked, facing the transparisteel in solitude. 

“Commander Cody, sir. You requested me?” The clone’s vocalizer spoke for him. 

“Ah _yes_ , Cody. Do come forward, my boy. I have something for you.” 

The Commander obliged, removing his Purge helmet and holding it as his waist. Cody had seen years of battle, and the half-decade he spent removed from the Clone Wars was noticeable on his face and features. Age lines began to set in, scars adorned, and the remnants of a gash sprawled across his left cheek, straddling his jawbone to reach his upper neck. He was not the same man he used to be. 

Order 66 had made sure of that. Vantu just did the rest. 

“Do you remember when the Emperor had your division personally transferred to my command?” She inquired. 

“Of course, sir. Four years ago.” 

“Right.” She clicked her tongue, her gaze drawn curiously to a passing comet in the far fringes of the system’s solar expanse. 

“Why, if I may ask, sir?” He said. 

“Did your superiors ever tell you about the other clones?” 

“ _Other_ clones? I’m not following.” 

“Nor should you, I figured they hadn’t.” Vantu offered a shrug, turning slowly to face him. The platinum blonde hair was pulled back to a bun, exposed to the air without a Moff’s cap. It didn’t favor her, and she hated it anyways. Her uniform was polished, of the proper decorum, and strictly colored black, with her rank insignia plaque displayed above her left breast, the typical five blue squares over three red and two yellow squares. Standard for a Moff. 

“So why am I here then, sir?” Cody pressed. 

“The other clones, Cody. The ones that seem to have betrayed us, the Empire, the cause. Treasonous scum who still blindly follow the Jedi, the ones who seem to lack the ability to follow orders. Do you know what I’m speaking of _now_?” 

Cody looked slightly confused, but appeared more alert than before. 

“I see where you’re taking this. Is this about the clone on Thyferra?” 

Vantu sighed. 

“Perhaps. But not strictly, no. He was just one cog. There is a spinning wheel in this galaxy, Cody. Somewhere, others of your kind are plotting our very demise.” 

“How do you know this, sir?” 

“It’s what the rebellious do. They plot to destroy the authority, the system of governance, the foundation of society. They seek to replace it with their own twisted idea of rule, but to us it’s just anarchy. They need order, and only _we_ can deliver it for them. Not the Emperor, not anyone else.” 

“Why? Why would they do this?” Cody shook his head. 

“Because they feel rejected from the rest, they feel they can fulfill their own desires by conquering us, they can gain personal retribution, or a ‘more just society.’ It’s a false mirage. We _are_ the just society in this galaxy. The rebellious are simply puppets for greater powers. We owe them nothing.” She paused. “We never will. They were just flawed creations, not like the perfection that is your genetic line.” 

Cody still looked a bit bewildered. Vantu smiled at him. 

“Cody, my dear boy. Come, listen to me. What if I told you that there were clones in this galaxy, once men you called brothers, plotting to destroy the Empire, and everything it stands for, including us? Genetically _flawed_ in their creation process.” 

“I’d say they’re traitors, and should be dealt with.” Cody said. 

“ _Right_ , exactly.” She clapped her hands together in glee. “I’m glad you see my point of view. That seems fairly common for us, hm?” She brought a hand to her chin, stroking it in thought. 

“Are there clones out there _like that_ , sir?” Cody asked her. 

“There are.” 

“Will they be trying to dismantle us?” 

“They will. These people may seem like they’re acting righteously, but in reality, Cody, they are being pulled on a string by those who want to topple the house of cards.” 

“How do you know?” Cody narrowed. 

“Because it’s obvious.” She shook her head. “This Empire will not last forever. It simply cannot. So those, such as these clones, will do the bidding of their new masters in an attempt to overthrow it, and replace it with something far more volatile, _weaker_.” 

“And what do we do about that, sir?” He asked hesitantly. 

“We wait.” 

“We wait? For what?” 

“For them to come to us, Commander.” Her lips tightened and drew up into a smirk. 

“They’d oughta pick a fight with the Emperor then, if they’re so intent on replacing the Empire.” 

“No. They’re targeting the strongest player, do not take them for fools. Those empowering them are far from fools, and should not be underestimated,” she urged. “They will come for us, because they see us as the biggest threat.” 

“Threat? We serve the Emperor.” 

“For now.” 

An officer from below the bridge walkway glanced up at her. She waved him off. 

“They have no idea, Cody. No idea what’s coming.” Vantu licked her lips, turning back to stare through the transparisteel into the void of nothingness. “I wield power in this galaxy. _You_ know that. They know that when the Emperor’s temple falls, I will be the one standing over the ashes.” 

“You’d make a fine Emperor, sir, but what is all of this talk for?” Cody stammered. “Respectfully, of course.” 

The Moff chuckled softly. 

“Don’t mind me, I’m just mulling about our future.” 

“ _Our_?” 

“You’re the commanding officer of my military. Without you, none of this works. You are _key_ , Cody. The perfect soldier. As long as you continue following my orders, without hesitation.” 

“I will follow any order given.” 

“To the death?” 

“To the death.” 

Vantu motioned to the viewing table to the starboard side of the bridge. “Over there, I’ve set up a hologram for you to view. When you’re ready, initiate it.” 

Cody did so. 

Scattered holographic images flickered about, before coming together to produce a coherent picture. 

The clone commander watched with intent in his eyes. 

Before long, he realized what it was. 

The interior of a hangar bay -- shown vividly in blue and white -- was the backdrop of what was to come, the recording sprawled across the table. 

A ship landed, of moderate size, on the deck. Two figures appeared at the rear of the bay to greet it, and came in as one. 

Cody looked closer, rewinding an image, and looking closer still. 

From the top of the bridge, Moff Vantu smiled. 

“Is that--..?” Cody started. He shook his head wildly. “No. It couldn’t be.” 

“Look closer, soldier.” Vantu urged, a twinge of glee swelling. 

As he did, he allowed the image to continue swirling around the holotable. 

The faces became clearer as a third figure, clad in clone trooper armor, descended the ramp to the ship. 

“Is this from a homing beacon?” Cody turned on his heels and asked. 

“You’d be correct. Keep watching.” She said. 

The recording continued, as the three greeted each other, and two promptly exited. 

Cody didn’t care about those two, he kept his focus on the third, who began looking the ship over. 

That’s when their eyes met, and he approached the source of the recording. 

Snatching it from the body of the ship, he peered into the camera that was built into the homing beacon, inspecting it. 

Cody’s heart stopped. He knew the face, the shaved blonde hair, the resilience in the eyes. Someone he thought was long dead. A friend of old. A reminder of the war that felt like eons ago. 

He was staring into the eyes of Commander Rex. 

Within a second, Rex’s hand clasped tightly around the beacon, and the image went dark. However, this was too fleeting, and Cody needed a better look. 

The Commander rewound the footage four seconds prior. 

There he was. 

Cody stared him down, unable to process thoughts, emotions, even words. 

His hands gripped the holotable, sparking one of the sensors nearby, which singed the edge of his armored glove. 

“You know who that is, don’t you, Cody?” Vantu asked mockingly. 

“ _Know him_?” Cody turned back to her, crimson flushed across his face, temper flared. “ _Know him!?_ ” He spat. “He was my _best friend_!” 

“Exactly. You’d recognize him anywhere, wouldn’t you?” She asked calmly. 

“You’re damn right I would. _Why_ is he on this? What is this?” 

“He rebelled, Cody. This footage is from the ship that brought the clone to Thyferra. I tracked it back to Dantooine, and this is what resulted.” 

“We need to go there, _now_.” He demanded. 

“Now, now, don’t get riled up just yet. I think they’ll come to us.” She resumed her watch of the stars beyond the viewport. 

“How do you _know_?” Cody said, slamming a fist down, sending a barrage of splintered cracks across the holotable’s surface. 

“Tsk tsk, now you’ve broken my table, Cody.” Vantu said, not looking at him. 

“I don’t _care_ , how do you _know_!?” 

“You will watch your tone with me, Commander.” 

“You will tell me _why_ Rex is on this footage!” 

“I already did. Weren’t you paying attention? He _rebelled_. He decided to stop following orders and to become a thorn in our side.” 

“ _Why_?” 

“Because those who would oppose the Emperor,” she took a moment, “those who would oppose _us_ , got into his head and spread lies. Now they think pitting washed-up war heroes against us is a winning strategy.” 

“Who’s _they_?” 

“Bail Organa. Sniveling Senator from Alderaan, friend of this underground group. My intelligence serves me well enough.” 

“Wouldn’t the Emperor be aware of treachery?” Cody said, his demeanor calming somewhat, but inside he was still distraught. 

“Contrary to popular belief, the Emperor doesn’t know _everything_. He’s not a god.” Vantu mused. “At least not yet.” 

“Why not tell him? Eliminate Organa and save Rex.” 

“Because I find it thrilling to know something the Emperor does not.” 

“I must save him.” Cody pleaded. 

“Cody..” She began, shaking her head. “Cody.. it’s too late. He’s already too far gone. They all are. There’s nothing that can be done for them.” Her response seemed genuine, dripping in empathy. 

“What are you saying?” The Commander appeared desperate. 

“I’m saying they must be killed to send a message. Disobedience is not to be tolerated, much less open rebellion.” 

“Rex is smarter than that, he wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, but he _would_.” Vantu said. “Just watch.” 

Their conversation was abruptly cut short. 

“Moff Vantu.” Came a voice from the opposite end of the bridge. 

Captain Mahfe had arrived from the turbolift. 

“What is it, Mahfe?” She called back. “We’ll discuss this at a later time, Cody. Dismissed.” With a wave of her hand, Cody stormed from the bridge. 

Mahfe eyed the crestfallen clone with cautious eyes as he swept past, before turning his attention back to his superior. 

“You have an incoming transmission.” 

“Is it live?” 

“It appears so. You might want to take this.” 

She scoffed at him. 

“Fine. Put it up.” 

She took a few paces back, and the holo-emitter from the viewport console flashed to life. 

Moff Vantu was met with the glare that defiant and unruly star systems galaxy-wide had come to fear. Her posture straightened and her hands joined each other behind her back. Vantu addressed him promptly. 

“Ah yes, Tarkin. What a surprise.” 

The rather stately features of Wilhuff Tarkin were not to be taken lightly. His prominent cheekbones and sunken face protruded existentially through the hologram emitter, making him appear larger than life. The man had begun the aging process considerably earlier than many of his peers, boasting older and more mature facial definitions than his counterparts in the Imperial command structure. In five short years, Tarkin had become the face of the Empire’s ruthless might, while another more shadowy figure had become a symbol of its relentless will. 

“Moff Vantu. We have not spoken in some time. I suppose I would be intruding upon your tea time at this moment, yes?” 

“Spare me the condescension, Tarkin. What is it you want?” 

“Please. It’s _Grand Moff_ , to you.” 

“Someone got a promotion,” she sneered. 

“With that attitude, you will never make it past your meager command in the Colonies. Consider your rank mercy.”  
“The Emperor adores me, you are mistaken.” 

“The Emperor merely _tolerates_ you, and finds your disdain of the Jedi Order a more useful tool in his war against lightsaber-wielding fundamentalists than he does your sycophantic behavior.” 

She grew frustrated, and hid it in plain sight. 

“Again, _Grand Moff_ , what is it you require from me?” 

“Your prize, won from Ossus. The Emperor demands you turn it over to him immediately.” 

“I was told I could keep what I found there.” 

“He has determined there will be a change of plans.” 

She took a deep breath, bringing her annoyance to a more balanced composure. 

“What prize is it that he speaks of?” 

“Your _asset_. The one stolen from the depths of the old temple. Emperor Palpatine declares it to be rightfully his.” 

“Ossus is not within the Empire’s jurisdiction.” 

“The Empire knows no jurisdiction, no boundaries. This entire galaxy is ripe for our taking, Vantu. You’d be wise to remember that, and to not play these games with us any longer.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

“You dare stand against the Emperor?” 

“Don’t think I haven’t discovered his secret, Tarkin. Force-Users are a plague on galactic society. I _know_ you agree with me, you’re just too complacent beneath Palpatine’s heel to express your true feelings.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “With my weapon from Ossus, I can stand against any who wield that cultish magic, with a taste of their own medicine. Once Palpatine’s foundation crumbles, the Force-Users will _never_ rise again.” 

“Using the Force against Force-Users. Hmm, I must say you sound like a sharp hypocrite.” The Grand Moff taunted. 

“The Ossus Asset will serve its purpose, and then be executed like the rest of them. If you think I take comfort in harboring one of them, you are _sadly_ mistaken. Its sole purpose is to be used as a means to an end, so the pragmatic ones, such as you and I, can seize what power is left.” 

“If you truly believe you know who the Emperor is, I suggest you tread lightly, Vantu. You won’t win this.” Tarkin said slowly, a threatening menace flowing through his voice. 

Vantu said nothing in response. 

“Are we finished here?” Tarkin asked. 

“Are you familiar with the reek species?” She finally asked. 

His eyes grew narrow. 

“I don’t see the relevance here, Vantu.” 

Moff Vantu smiled. 

“Reek are native to my homeworld. Herds of them roam the banks of the Gachoogai River. Majestic beasts, though rather deadly. They are born as innocent, diminutive.. docile animals. Perhaps nothing more than a domestic pet.” She mused, standing defiant before the hologram. 

“Vantu, I--..” 

She interrupted. 

“These small children rely on the oversight and protection of their mother for several years. Until they are _free_ from that grasp, and grow into formidable creatures, capable of bringing death to all those who _dare_ cross them.” 

Tarkin, normally a man with sharp instincts and the ability to counter in nearly any conversation, was left mostly silent at her monologue. 

Until he finally grasped the weight of her subtle pronouncement. 

“ _Moff Vantu_. Is this a _threat_?” 

“Do you feel threatened, Tarkin? If so, then yes.” 

He scoffed silently. 

“You _will_ return this asset, Moff. I am not here to play games. What you possess belongs to Emperor Palpatine.” 

“If he seeks to claim what is mine, he leaves me with no option.” 

Tarkin’s glacial stare twisted into the semblance of a smile. 

“I’m sure I can arrange a visit from the First Fleet then.” 

She only blinked. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of your new Star Destroyers?” 

“Of course not, I know you better than that. But your crew and _ship_ are expendable to us, while I’m sure _you_ see it differently.” 

“And if they fail?” 

Tarkin only smirked. 

“Then perhaps you’d be more cooperative with Lord Vader.” 

Silence ensued. 

“The day that metal-mouthed pawn of the Emperor takes this vessel, is the day a blaster finds its way to my head. He is not taking _my ship_ with me on it.” 

“Then perhaps you will have your date with destiny soon enough then, should you refuse to comply.” 

“We’ll see about that, shall we?” Vantu responded. 

“This is not a debate, Vantu. I cannot be bothered by this, I am busy inspecting Project Stardust over Geonosis. The First Fleet will deal with you. You have two days to bring the asset to Coruscant.” 

She swiped the hologram away, spinning in anger to Captain Mahfe. 

“Mahfe.” 

“Sir..?” 

“Where is the rest of the Fourth Fleet?” She needed her ships. 

“We have four in dockyards over Kuat for scheduled maintenance, another two handling an uprising of farmers on Balmorra. That leaves three available, however, the _Retribution_ is undergoing an engine retrofit at Carida.” 

“So you mean that leaves two available,” she said disdainfully. 

“Precisely.” 

“Are they Victory-class?” 

“No. Arquitens.” 

She closed her eyes. 

“Mahfe.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“We have _no_ capital ships available?” 

“Just our own, sir.” Mahfe seemed rather proud of the statement. 

“Where are the Arquitens?” Vantu asked in annoyance. 

“Fondor. Routine security operations.” 

“Recall them.” 

“It’ll take twenty-four hours to load them up and get them here.” 

“You said they were available.” 

“There was a caveat, forgive me.” 

“ _I don’t care_ how long it takes, make it happen, have them double their battery and fighter support. While you’re at it, bring back our Victory-classes from Balmorra, the farmers pose no threat for now. You have my blessing to make this happen.” 

“Right away, sir. Anything else?” His comment almost struck her as sarcasm, but she ignored the undertones. 

“Yes. What’s the status of the Asset?” 

Mahfe blinked. 

“The good doctor has made substantial progress in his bacta experimentation, despite the destruction of the kolto shipment as he required. It appears to be nearing completion.” 

“Good. You’re dismissed, Mahfe.” 

With a salute, Mahfe departed the bridge for the inter-fleet communications center. 

As the _Prosecutor_ toiled over Shili, Vantu turned her indignation back to the stars. 

The chessboard had been set. 

All she had to do was make the first move. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You've reached the end of Act Two. What started back in Chapter Six is now finished. Eighteen chapters made the second act the bulk of the story, but now those plot threads have all converged. Act Three will be much shorter, but once it gets going, it doesn't stop. 
> 
> Thanks a ton to everyone who has stuck around. Obviously a non-smut story isn't the most popular category on Ao3, but I absolutely love each and every person who has read this far, you've kept me going. We're almost done.


	24. Battle Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the onset of the final act, the clones prepare to make a desperate stand.

**Third Iteration**

**XXIV**

* * * * 

Dantooine - 14 BBY 

Four hours to landing 

"Eera Vantu." 

The Moff's sharp, calculating features were on full display, suspended in a blue sheen above the holotable in the facility's briefing room. 

"Native of Ylesia, in Hutt Space. Graduated from Republic Naval Academy on Coruscant six years before Geonosis. Fourth in a class of forty-five hundred." 

A few subtle murmurs echoed through the cozy chamber. Wood-panel walls enveloped the room in a rustic atmosphere, leaving a sense of warmth upon entering. At the room's anterior, lay the holotable and a holoscreen, beneficial to the ongoing presentation. 

"She rose quickly through the ranks to become one of the best performing captains in the Republic Fleet, which was then only around two-thousand war vessels for over a billion inhabited systems." 

Commander Rex stood at the front of the room, making motions to the advancing slides on the holoscreen, while the Moff's face rotated on the table before him. 

The other six clones sat in chairs scattered around, with Bail, Ahsoka, and Raymus watching from behind. A smattering of other intelligence officers were near the entrance, eyeing Rex's presentation keenly. 

"By the onset of the war, she was promoted to Admiral, to oversee the deployment of several fleets across the Mid Rim. She won every encounter she was faced with, until the Battle of Quermia. Since then, she was promoted to Moff, the equivalent of a sector governor, under the leadership of Grand Moff Tarkin and the Emperor himself. In the time that's passed since the war, she seems to have developed a sense of overconfidence in her abilities and prowess, which could easily be exploited." 

"You ever think all of that bootlicking and overconfidence is compensating for something?" Chuckles asked first. 

"If it is, we don't know why." Rex replied. "No psychologists here." 

"How do you propose we exploit it?" Dynamo piped up from the front row. 

"By striking where she least expects, of course." 

"Right under her nose." Wolffe added. 

"Precisely. On Baradas. The planned operation would be something I doubt she's expecting. If she's aware of us, she may think we're planning a naval excursion on her fleet in open space." 

"Let's prove her wrong then." Dynamo said. 

Rex nodded, returning to the holoscreen. 

"The Moff commands the Fourth Fleet." The next slide expanded to show updated diagrams of the various ships in her current arsenal, floor plans, room dioramas, specifications, and technical readouts. "That fleet is currently composed of a handful of Victory-class Star Destroyers, Arquitens-class cruisers, transport shuttles, extensive complements of TIE craft, and of course, her flagship." 

"The _Prosecutor_." Ahsoka said from the back. 

Rex looked at her. 

"That's right." His eyes found the clones again. "It's one of the only remaining Venator-class ships the Imperials field. Intel suggests she's insisted on keeping it. Perhaps a memento from the war, we aren't sure. But she's incredibly proficient in its operation, I'd say one of the best in the galaxy." 

"When you've been flying 'em for almost eight years, I can see why." Fix whispered. 

Chuckles looked at him. 

"Could you fly one o'those, Fix?" 

Fix laughed. "Hell would freeze over before I could pilot a Star Destroyer." 

"Luckily, he won't have to." Bail spoke up, stepping forward. 

The slide on the screen swiped left, displaying the details of a Venator-class. 

"We've obtained our own Venator." Bail began. "Thanks to our Fulcrum agents operating near Sicemon, we were able to obtain a derelict ship from the Republic era, the _Deliverance_." 

"Those things are massive, Senator. How could we get one up there, let alone in fighting form?" Noble asked. 

"Leave that to us." Bail smiled. "We may be small in number, but I made a few calls to Senator Mothma and others. We've found ourselves a captain, and put together a skeleton crew of volunteers to operate the ship." 

"I hope the Captain is experienced." Karma said, shaking his head. 

"I assure you, Lieutenant. He is." Bail assuaged. "He's the only one in our network who's ever captained a vessel that large. I'd trust him with my life." 

"Who is he?" Fix asked. 

"Captain Rulius Qar. Native of Chandrila, operating in one of our cells in the Mid Rim. Mon Mothma recommended him personally to me, and after reaching out, he volunteered himself." 

"He may not last long against someone of her tactical ability." Fix added. "She wouldn't even need the rest of her fleet to send our asses scurrying back where we came from. The _Prosecutor_ looks to be modified." 

"Ah yes, you're right." Bail replied, looking at Rex with a nod. "But he won't have to last long." 

"Senator's right." Rex said. "Our capital ship is only there to provide cover for you, and to escort our transport ships in and out of the system with the colonists." 

"So what's our operation plan then?" Karma asked. 

Bail stepped back and Noble took his spot at the front, to assist the Commander. 

The two clones stood on either side of the holotable, and Rex swiped away the image of the Moff's face to reveal the spherical outline of Baradas, floating in empty space. 

Ahsoka gazed at the holographic world, imagining the plight of her people. 

"This is Baradas." Rex said, motioning to the hologram. 

"Hi, Baradas." Chuckles waved. 

The other clones looked at him. He shrugged, inclining his head slightly towards Rex. 

"Continue." 

"Right. So, as of our last recon flight, four hours ago, Baradas is undefended in space at the moment. Whether it's a trap or not, we aren't sure, but we have to make a move either way." Noble said. 

"The ground team of eight, including Ahsoka and the seven of us, will land early, under nightfall, with stolen Imperial codes we obtained during our hack of the Archives and systems." Rex said. 

"What're we riding in on?" Dynamo asked. 

Rex looked at Fix, who then found almost every pair of eyes in the room on him. 

" _Fix_." Dynamo started. "I hope you've learned how to fly better in your downtime." 

"Can it." Fix replied. "I'll get us down there." 

"Using Fix's modified gunship, we jump in and make the landing in approximately four hours from now. We've marked an LZ about four klicks out from the two main villages on the planet. They're mining communities, and it's most likely that the population is centered here." 

"Baradas is a forest world. A temperate rainforest, to be exact." Noble told the gathered group. "Around the villages, the forest has been mostly clear cut. Once you leave the treeline of the rainforest, you'll no longer have the vegetation to protect you or hide you, so keep that in mind." 

Rex took his turn. "There are most likely groups of recon scouts and forest patrols that run paths through the trees at night, so be sure to tag them as appropriate. Keep an eye out for speeders." 

"Once we make it through the treeline, we have to use the cover of early dawn to disable the four anti-aircraft towers that are positioned around the larger of the two villages, here." Noble pointed out their locations on the map, as it zoomed in to micro scale over a region in the northern hemisphere. "This will allow our transports to land and begin loading the colonists, which Ahsoka and Rex will take charge of." 

"We do however, expect heavy resistance in both villages, even without the towers up. The Moff has deployed a prefabricated garrison to the surface, most likely housing a couple of walkers and multiple ground squadrons." Rex said. 

"Will we have surface backup?" Fix interrupted. 

Rex shook his head. 

"It's just us on the ground, boys. But, all of us know that one clone is worth four bucketheads. Let's show 'em who the best fighting force in the galaxy _really is_." Rex smirked with underlying pride. 

"Odds are against us." Noble said slowly. "They usually always are. But we've almost always made it out on the other side. This time will be no different, as long as we stick to this plan. We eliminate the AA towers, cover the transports from enemy fire, and focus on disabling the walkers. Then we get our asses offworld asap." 

"Who takes care of the walkers? We don't have AT-TEs to back us up this time." Fix said. 

"Dynamo's bringing the big guns, as he usually does. He'll have a modular rocket launcher in his compartment bag, so once we reach the clearing, we'll be ready. Just cover him through the trees." 

"You shits better not get me whacked out there, before I can get a good shot off." Dynamo joked. 

"I got your back, brother." Wolffe said. "Just keep your eye on those walkers. They'll tear us to shreds in a few good shots." 

"What if we run out of rockets?" Chuckles hopped in. 

"We won't let it get that far." Noble said. 

"That's some mighty big confidence in our ordinance. How many are we bringing?" 

"Ten." 

"We'll see what we can do with it." Dynamo said. "Leave it to me, Chuckles." 

"Right, right. Just lookin' out for all of us, Dy." 

"If they have any empty vehicles, we'll use Fix to get inside and wire them up. Maybe they can be used against the walkers." 

Fix shrugged. "Worth a shot." 

"What's the space plan?" Karma asked. 

"Right, so the _Deliverance_ will jump in at pre-dawn, around the time our efforts will have disabled the AA towers. Thanks to Senator Organa, we have a small fleet of A-Wings, and Z95 Headhunters being loaded up in the _Deliverance_ 's hangar bay as we speak, alongside transports of various shapes and sizes. It'll be crowded down there." Rex answered. 

"Fighters?" Dynamo exclaimed. "We'll have fighter support?" 

"Those fighters are small in number, and are primarily going to be escorts for the transports, or holding off the Moff, should she arrive quickly." 

"She will." Bail said. "Intelligence reports that she's in the Shili system already. But it's just her. Just the _Prosecutor_. She's short by quite a few ships." 

"Perfect time to strike then." Fix said. "How will Qar keep her at bay?" 

"The ships are mostly equal in terms of firepower, but the _Deliverance_ will be short handed by a couple thousand men, so some essential systems will be offline, including the expanded med bay, hangar mechanic support, engine maintenance, et cetera. Main focus is weapons, hyperdrive, navigation and emergency medical for the colonists." Rex said. "Qar said he has a few tricks for keeping her off his ass for a bit, but we won't have much time once she arrives." 

"Fix said the _Prosecutor_ is modified, what does he mean?" Wolffe asked. 

"She's expanded her hangar bay for additional fighter complements, and increased her shield capabilities. No additional weapons, as far as we know." Noble responded. "Courtesy of our Archives hackers." 

"So no secret superlasers or anything?" Fix inquired cautiously. 

"Not that we're aware of. Knock on wood." Rex replied with a smile. 

"So lemme break this down." Chuckles began. "We jump in, land, cut their AA's off, hold back the buckets and their walkers - somehow - till you and the Jedi here get all the people offworld, while our new buddy Qar holds off Vantu in space, then we all get the hell out of there?" 

"Perfect explanation." Noble affirmed. "Exactly. And hope she doesn't bring more ships." 

"Otherwise, we're _really_ screwed." Rex said. 

Fix gulped, saying nothing. He shrunk into his seat. 

Dynamo and Wolffe watched the hologram rotate, also quiet. 

Karma stood to his feet. 

"Karm?" Noble asked. 

"Odds of success?" He asked. 

"Two to one we take it." Noble smirked, recalling Quermia. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves like we did last time." 

"Last time." Chuckles said. "Last time we _all_ got screwed." 

"Now don't you turn this into a rant about Orren." Fix scolded him. "You know it wasn't his fault." 

"I know. Doesn't change what happened." 

"We can't go back and fix that, Chuckles. Let's make up for it this time, though." Noble said. 

"Of course. Let's go get 'em." Chuckles said with a nod. 

"As much as you love the _Tantive_ , Fix, she won't be joining us on this one." Bail told the clone, returning to the front of the room. 

"I figured as much. She's an Alderaanian ship. Would give you away in a heartbeat." 

"Right. I wish I could, though." 

"You and me, both, sir." Raymus shouted from the back. 

Bail smiled at him. "Perhaps one day, Captain, we won't have to be so subtle in our movements anymore. But today is not that day." He looked back at the clones. "Captain Antilles has volunteered to pilot one of our transports down. We had to requisition around ten transports, each with a minimum capacity of four-hundred." 

"How many are down there?" Wolffe asked incredulously. 

"Close to two-thousand, and we're going to get every single one of them." Ahsoka answered. Wolffe turned to her. 

"Don't worry, I have no doubts about that, but it may take a little longer than I expected." 

"That's been planned for, Wolffe." Ahsoka assured. "It's good to see you again, by the way." 

"Likewise, _Commander_." 

They nodded to each other, exchanging soft smiles, and Rex stepped down from the holotable platform. 

"Any other questions?" 

"Yeah, I got one more." Dynamo said. 

"What's up, Dy?" Noble asked. 

"The Purges. Will they be a factor?" 

Noble fell quiet. Rex took over. 

"Moff Vantu commands four squads of them. Four per squad, plus the commander. They're all just helmets, no faces to us." Rex said. 

"So, seventeen of them?" 

"That's right. Should she choose to field them.." Rex sighed. "..let's just hope she doesn't." 

"I can break their armor." Ahsoka said. "But it'll take work. That stuff is lightsaber-resistant. Not as easy to slice through as a droid or a clone, no offense to you guys." 

"None taken." Noble said. "She's right. We gotta watch out for the Purges. Normal blaster fire may not be enough to take them down. Might have to think creatively." 

"Even creative might not be enough to save you." Dynamo said. "I've seen what they can do, _and_ their commander." 

"Any details on 'em, Dy?" Chuckles asked. "Think we oughta be prepared." 

Dynamo's eyes fell. He didn't want to divulge what he knew, but it was essential. 

"Dy?" Fix jumped in. "You okay?" 

"They're clones." Dynamo finally said. "Almost all of them." 

The room fell silent. 

"Chipped?" Wolffe asked. 

Dynamo simply nodded. "Their commander led the 212th. That's all I know." 

Rex and Wolffe both looked at him in unison. 

"The _what_?" Rex said. 

"212th Battalion. Ya know, Kenobi?" 

Ahsoka stepped into the room, and Rex's eyes met hers. 

She witnessed the storm of emotion criss-crossing his irises. 

"It can't be.. Rex.. could it?" Wolffe asked his old friend. 

"I.. don't know brother. I never knew if he survived or not." 

"Who? What?" Fix asked. Noble looked confused too. 

"Cody." Wolffe said, voice thinning out with deep strain. "He led the 212th.." 

"Just like Wolffe led the 104th." Rex added. 

"And Rex led the 501st." Ahsoka said. 

"He was.. our friend." Wolffe spoke in a broken pattern, clearly distressed. "One of our _best_." 

"Wolffe?" Rex looked at his brother. 

They locked eyes in worry. Cody was one of their closest brothers during the war. The three spent many hours in offtime together, getting together for drinks or exploring Coruscant's unruly depths. Rex, Wolffe, and Cody, had been, at one time, inseparable. 

While Rex was still a captain at the time, the trio had a nickname that became popular around their battalions. 

The three Commanders. 

Two were now free of the Empire's grasp. One remained enslaved. 

"We're gonna get him." Rex continued. "We're gonna bring him back." He choked back a tear. 

"Rex.." Ahsoka started. 

"No, Ahsoka. There's no other way. We're not abandoning Cody to die, or worse, to continue slaving under the Moff." 

She knew there was no other way around it. Once he had his sights set on something, he was nearly unstoppable. 

Ahsoka backed off sullenly, hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst. 

"Alright." She whispered. "It's your call." She found a chair and did not speak again. 

"Is that everything then?" Bail interjected, hoping to clear the air in the room. 

"Yeah. We're finished here. Wings up in an hour, get your gear ready." Rex said bluntly, making his way to the exit, Wolffe in tow. Upon passing Ahsoka, he gave her a faint gaze, but she didn't meet it, and the two continued hastily for the door. 

Just outside in the corridor, Rex confronted Wolffe. 

"Did you know about this?" 

"No, brother. I promise you, I knew _nothing_ about Cody." He shook his head. "I'm just as upset about this as you are." 

"You didn't seem that way, Wolffe. C'mon." 

"I'm just at a loss for words, Rex. I mean.. _Cody_ being _alive_. Cody of all people? Under Vantu, too? It's a nightmare." 

"We're saving him." Rex was trembling. 

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Imagine the things he's done, Rex. The things he's _seen_. We should let him rest." 

Rex pounded at Wolffe's chest in frustration, a tear forming at the corner of his eye. 

" _No_. He's our _friend_ , Wolffe. We cannot leave him like this. We can't kill him." Rex shook his head hurriedly. "I _won't_." His lips began quivering anxiously. 

"What if he leaves us no other choice?" 

Rex had no answer. 

Without a word, the two left the corridor separately, finding their rooms for the night. 

In the briefing room, Gale Squad sat in relative silence, huddled around each other, as the clock ticked further towards their date with destiny. 

Bail mulled about, searching for the proper words to close the briefing. 

He found them promptly. 

"May the Force be with us all, then." 

Bail then ducked out with Captain Antilles and the rest of the officers, leaving only Ahsoka and five clones. 

"Are you worried about him?" Noble asked her. 

She sat in a chair towards the back, staring forward. 

"Perhaps." 

"He'll do the right thing, Ahsoka." 

"But at what cost?" 

"You have faith in him, don't you?" 

"I always have. Since the day we met. It's Cody who I don't." Ahsoka mused about the situation. 

"Why?" 

"It's been too long. He'll be too resistant to it. The second he sees me, he'll snap back into Sixty-Six again. Rex won't be able to do anything." 

"He'll die trying, you know." 

"I know." 

Ahsoka sighed. "This just keeps getting more complicated." 

"Did you ever go and talk to.. _him_?" Noble asked again. 

Ahsoka nodded, saying nothing. 

"Finding who?" Fix asked. 

"He's not coming." She said. "Nothing in this galaxy will get him off that rock." 

"Always been a stubborn one, the General." Noble quipped. 

"Hold on, you found _Orren_?" Dynamo asked, standing to his feet. 

Chuckles blinked, listening, but having nothing of note to say. 

"Why wouldn't he come?" Karma pressed. 

"He believes his destiny is there. I think he's too afraid to fail you again." 

Dynamo glared at Chuckles. 

"If you hadn't made him feel terrible about all of this, _maybe_ he'd be here for us now. Congratulations." 

Chuckles raised his hands in protest. 

"Don't look at me. It was his plan. We just got caught up at the wrong end of it." 

"No. We got caught up at the wrong end because of the _Order_ , not him. We were trying to kill him, remember?" Fix added. "That wasn't his fault. Something snapped. The chips." 

"You were so fixated on avenging Tandem, you forgot to point the finger where it _really_ belongs." Karma said. 

"Leave Tandem out of this." Chuckles warned. "You know how I feel about it." 

"It's been five years, grow the hell up." Dynamo said. 

Chuckles bolted up, pushing his index finger into Dynamo's chest. 

"I'm telling you, Dy. Cut it out." 

"Oh yeah? Or else what? You gonna hit me, Chuckles?" 

"I'm thinking about it." 

"I dare you." 

The two met eye to eye, staring each other down. 

"Brothers, stop this. _Now_. This isn't why we're here. That was the past." Noble interrupted, pulling them apart. "We all miss Tandem. But we also miss Stax and Copy. Sash. Ty. Everyone we lost in that city, in that palace. They ain't coming back. It's up to us now to set this right." 

Karma blinked a few times, hearing the names of his squad. He offered nothing in response, just a subtle nod. 

Ahsoka got up from her seat and came over to them. 

" _All of you_ are brave for this. You have good hearts. Do not let past transgressions steer you astray. Orren made his choice. We have to make ours, with or without him." 

The clones said nothing, but under the veil of silence, they all agreed. 

"Since that's settled, go get prepared." 

One by one they departed, until only Fix was left. 

"Is he really not coming back?" He murmured, as the others streamed out the door. 

"I'm not sure." She said, her expression growing glum. 

Fix nodded. 

"Even if he doesn't. We _will_ still stand with you. All of us." 

Ahsoka patted him on the shoulder as he departed. 

She stood alone in the briefing room as the lights dimmed, her figure only illuminated by the holographic planet she knew far too well. Tomorrow, she would save them. All of them. Tomorrow, she would make the spirit of her master proud, and rescue the people that lived under the boot of an Imperial tyrant. 

The people that were her own. 

If only Anakin Skywalker were there to see her now. 

**** 

The _Deliverance_ 's hangar bays teemed with life. Various mechanics, systems engineers, computer analysts and intelligence officers crowded around, analyzing the technical prowess of one of the transport vessels assigned to the operation, with a few last-minute starfighter repairs and examinations occurring in neighboring bays. 

Dynamo and Noble walked alone around the hull of a Loronar medium transport. Sprawling across the bay, it was the smallest transport, yet it required the wall of the adjacent hangar to be knocked down to accommodate it. 

Amid the cries and bustle of the fueling teams and cargo offloaders, the clones were undisturbed. 

"You really think this'll work, Cap?" Dynamo asked. 

"Not quite sure, if I'm being honest. I gotta hope it will." Noble answered. 

"You know we're outnumbered." 

"And outgunned, overpowered, pretty much all of it. Yeah. I know." 

"We're down on fighters just because these transports take up too much room." 

"We have to do what we have to do, Dy." Noble allowed. 

"I just hope it doesn't come back to bite us, the lack of fighter support." 

"Me too." 

"Doesn't change your opinion?" 

"Can't afford to let it." 

The pair sidestepped to allow maintenance personnel to inspect the capacitor arrays at the bow of the transport. 

"This is the smallest transport they're sending up. What's the capacity?" Dynamo said. 

"Around three-fifty." 

"Cutting it close." 

"We don't have a choice." Noble said softly. "It's all we got." 

"We headed up soon?" Dynamo asked, shifting topics. 

"Yeah. _Tempest_ should be ready in about four minutes." 

The _Deliverance_ , hovering in Dantooine's lower atmosphere, had been receiving fighter complements and transport ships all day, now in the final stages of preparedness for the looming mission ahead. 

Just a few bays down, in front of the _Tempest_ , Fix paced about his newly remodeled gunship. 

"Fancy that, eh? Almost like a brand new ship." Karma admired it from the outer bay wall. 

"Just like it was in wartime, fresh paint and all." Fix smiled, looking at his old friend. "Republic cream and red." 

"She's beautiful. I heard you named it?" 

"Aye. _Tempest_." 

Karma pushed himself from the wall, approaching steadily. 

"My squad?" He murmured. 

Fix nodded. 

Karma extended a hand, pulling him into a hug. 

"You didn't have to, brother. Thank you." His whisper was strained, but Fix heard it loud and clear. 

Parting, Fix took to asking the questions. 

"So. Since you followed your aspiration and became a family man, I expect the manual on how to raise children on my desk by morning." 

Karma chuckled. 

"You know," he pointed out, "I _never_ thought I'd actually live up to it. Honestly, I was too scared of trying, till I met Sala." 

"What happened?" 

"It just.. came naturally with her." Karma mused. "Like clockwork." His expression did nothing to mask the love he had for his wife. 

Fix dropped to his knees and opened a panel on the rear starboard side of the gunship. 

"You'll see her again, Karm. Trust me." 

"Yeah. Been hearin' that a lot lately." 

"You _will_." Fix urged. "We'll get off that rock with the colonists, and we'll go back to our lives. Yeah?" 

Karma stood in silence, and a few refuelers brushed past him. 

"I suppose so." He finally said. "Listen, you're not gonna get us blown out of the sky down there, are you?" 

Fix held back a laugh. 

"Of _course not_. You still think my flying is that bad?" 

"I think it's just become a running joke, that's all." 

"Thank Chuckles and Dy for that." 

"I always do." 

As if ushered in by the mere mention of his name, Chuckles appeared in the bay. 

"Hey boys." He said on approach, watching Fix's last-minute tinkering. "So, I never did ask, how are we taking the gunship ahead of the main force?" 

Fix leaned out from underneath the LAAT, a grin smeared across his face. 

"What?" Chuckles asked. "I hate that look. You're always up to something when you give me that look." 

"You'll find out." Fix assured. "I had a few things installed. Took a couple years to get my hands on 'em, though." 

"I'm afraid to ask." Chuckles said. "You better not get us killed." 

"Don't _worry_." Karma interjected. "I already joked him about his flying." 

"You beat me to it." Chuckles quipped. "That's my job." 

"Get in line, pal." Karma said, smiling. "I'm sure we'll be fine." He patted Chuckles on the shoulder and returned to the munitions locker at the far side of the bay. 

"Where's Dynamo when you need him?" Karma called, fiddling with the munitions locker passcode. 

"Careful what you wish for." Dynamo said, filing into the bay behind Captain Noble. 

"Get over here you ass." Karma retorted. "Help me with this, you seem to have a knack for opening 'em." 

Dynamo took it upon himself to be useful, and waved Karma out of the way. 

"What're you doing?" Karma asked. 

Dynamo just smiled, waving him away. Karma finally relented and stepped aside. 

With his entire body weight, Dynamo sent himself crashing into the munitions locker, jolting the jammed screw open, and the two wide doors hung loose. 

"So you just.. beat it up to get it open?" Karma muttered. 

"Basically." 

The two shrugged, and delved into the treasure trove of ordinance and armaments, their eyes lighting up like children at the Festival of Light. 

"Oh _man_." Dynamo breathed. "Look at these gorgeous guns." 

Karma grinned at him, hoisting a DC-15 from its holster and sizing it up. 

"Still feels the same to me." 

"That's because it _is_ the same. They stopped producing them after the war ended." 

"Shame. Reliable rifle. Systems are powerful, dynamic. Low recoil, high burst. Exponential damage when mounted." Karma looked it over in subtle glee. 

"You look like Fix when he sees a broken speeder." Chuckles said, joining the party at the munitions locker. "Got a good tripod in there?" 

"Might not need one if I'm high enough up. Just a scope." 

"Macro One-X or Four-X?" 

"Four-X'll do." 

"You sure?" 

"Positive." 

Karma grabbed a Four-X macro scope from the bottom of the locker, securing it into the place and loading the rifle's plasma charge. 

"You forget, he's the sniper." Dynamo said. 

"Touche." Chuckles said, licking his lips. His eyes wandered a bit, as he pieced together his next string of words. 

"Dy, how's this look?" Karma asked, rolling a bandolier of thermals over his shoulder. 

"Advanced bandolier, holds more than they used to." 

"Looks hot." 

"I second that." 

"Hey Dy?" Chuckles cut in. "A word?" 

"Sure." 

They stepped off to the side as Karma - and soon Noble - dug through the locker for weapons. 

"About earlier, our argument. I'm sorry." Chuckles began, rubbing the nape of his neck in shame. "Tandem was always a sensitive subject for me. I've been brash about it. Can you forgive a shitty old clone?" 

Dynamo gripped his shoulder in reassurance, looking his counterpart dead in the eye, his focus intense. 

"Chuckles." Dynamo smiled. "You're my brother. We're _all_ brothers. You're all gonna piss me off at some point. It's what we do best. You know I've always had a temper. Don't _ever_ sweat it, alright? I know you mean well." 

Chuckles feigned a bit of a smile, looking for a hint of happiness in the moment. 

"Thanks, Dy. I just.. I miss him." Chuckles mumbled 

"So do I." 

"Alright, ladies. Are we done holding each other's dicks?" Karma came over, loaded to the bone with equipment. 

Chuckles jabbed him in the chest. "You're damn right we are." He rushed to Noble. "Save me a DC-15 Cap?" 

"Got one with your name on it." 

"Really?" 

"Of course not." Noble deadpanned. "Take it." He handed over the fourth rifle to the wisecracking clone as the final two troopers entered the bay. 

"Cap!" Rex shouted. "We loaded up? Wings up in ten minutes." 

"We're almost ready, Commander." 

"Great. Wolffe, go on ahead and grab your gear." 

Patching up the last panel, Fix crawled out from under the rear of the gunship, lowering it down from the hydraulic jack. He joined Wolffe at the locker as Noble and Karma took to the gunship. 

"You ready, kid?" Wolffe asked, eagerly reaching for a DC-15 and a precision sight attachment, before searching for two sidearms. 

"Again, Wolffe. We're the same age." 

"I know. Just enjoy saying it." Wolffe smirked. 

"But.. yeah. I'm thinking I'm ready." Fix said hesitantly, grabbing his own riflery equipment. 

"This won't be like Manaan." 

"No, no it won't." 

"You favoring grenades to the rifle?" 

"Why would you think that?" Fix asked. 

"You said you barely passed riflery." 

"Oh yeah.." 

"So?" 

"We'll see when we get down there. I've had a change of heart lately towards the Imps." 

"After Manaan, you mean?" 

"Exactly." 

"I look forward to seeing you shine then." He gave Fix a friendly pat, before turning to board the gunship. 

Rex took his place. 

"Wolffe told me you served him well on Manaan." Rex said, grabbing his signature two blaster pistols from the locker. 

"I saved his life, so I reckon he would say something like that." Fix answered. 

"You did? Bastard never mentioned that." 

They chuckled amongst themselves, looking back at Wolffe. 

"Let him bask in his glory." Rex whispered. "He performs better that way." 

"Let's hope so." 

"Rex! Let's go." Noble called for him. "Comlink in the cockpit is requesting we take off asap." 

"They're rushing us? Something they know we don't?" The Commander replied. 

"I think they got some of the timing wrong on Baradas. Might not have as much nighttime cover as we thought." 

"Damn." Rex slipped under his breath. "Alright, Fix. You're up." He beckoned the mechanic towards the gunship, and they were the last two clones to board. 

Fix took to the cockpit, leaving his rifle propped behind his seat. 

The final passenger strode into the hangar, cloak flowing behind her like a gentle landslide. 

"Fashionably late, Ahsoka?" Rex jested. 

"Never late, you're just always early." She retorted with a half-smile. "Time to get underway, boys." Pulling herself up into the cabin of the gunship, she eyed a massive durasteel container at the rear of the troop hold. 

"What is this, Lieutenant?" She asked Fix. "Typical gunships don't have these sorts of additions." 

"With all due respect, Ahsoka." Fix said, pearly whites flashing from the cockpit. "This isn't your typical gunship." 

"Is that a hyperdrive?" Noble exclaimed. "You put a _hyperdrive_ onboard a _gunship_?" 

"Oh great. This is gonna be wonderful." Chuckles said. "Just wonderful." 

"Pipe down, Chuckles. It'll be a walk in the park. Just a little bit of a jolt." Karma said. 

"A _jolt_? Oh it'll be a little more than that." Fix joked. 

"C'mon Fix, don't do that to me." Chuckles replied. 

Ahsoka smiled. "Whatever gets us there faster, is fine with me." She entered the cockpit, plopping herself down in the copilot's seat and plugging her comlink into the system. "Am I okay up here?" She asked Fix. 

"You're fine, Commander. Just don't crash us." He chuckled. 

"Trust me, I've flown before." 

"Oh yeah? You get some fancy flight training from the Jedi, eh?" 

"More from my Master than from the Council." She recalled, leaning back in the seat with the communications headset draped over her montrals. "He was the best starpilot in the galaxy." She blinked the memory away, staring through the transparisteel windshield. 

"Sounds like a damn good Jedi to me." Fix replied. "How we doing back there?" He asked to the other clones, as the comlink from the _Deliverance_ 's bridge came through as a bit of garbled static. 

"Just fine, Fix. Give us the word." Noble called back, gripping the handrail above their heads. "I suggest you all do the same," he motioned the others to the rail. 

"One minute till go-time!" Fix leaned down and scattered his fingers across the various switches and knobs, switching them from Off to On. 

As the LAAT powered up, its sublight drives rattled the hangar, sending a few unsecured objects scattered against the wall. 

"She's purring!" Fix yelled. "Sounds _beautiful_!" 

The distinctive droning rumble of the drive engines were enough to leave the troopers reminiscing on the past, when the LAATs would frequently stop and go to drop them into hot zones across the galaxy. 

Now it was carrying them to an uncertain future. However, they had a job to do, and there was nothing that would stop them from carrying it out. 

It was their oath as soldiers. 

At the edge of the hangar bay, Bail Organa looked on, flanked by two communications officers. As he watched the gunship prepare to depart, an aide spoke. 

"Senator. You have a reply transmission." 

"And?" 

"She's agreed to help us. We've sent her the coordinates." 

A smile fluttered across Bail's face as they turned to depart, leaving Ahsoka and the troopers alone in the gunship. 

The LAAT's comlink crackled again, and all of the clones were thrust back to Quermia. Their last departure as a unit before the Order was passed down by Sidious. 

"Gunship _Tempest_ this is _Deliverance_ flight control, you are clear to depart in sixty seconds." 

Seven clone helmets nestled inside the storage rack in the holding bay. An assortment of white, green, gray, and blue, the visors stared out at their owners, reminding them of the horrors they were about to jump headfirst into, yet again. 

" _Tempest_ , you are clear to depart in forty seconds." 

Noble grabbed Rex by the shoulder, bringing him within speaking distance. 

"Thank you." 

"For what?" Rex shouted over the engines. 

"Keeping me in the service. We're doing the right thing today." 

Rex clutched the Captain's hand in his and locked it tight. 

"If only your General could see you now." 

Noble sighed. 

"If only." 

" _Tempest_ , you are clear to depart in ten seconds." 

The clones each exchanged final glances amongst each other, keeping their heads down in safety as the clock began counting down. 

"Nine." 

"Eight." 

"Seven." 

"Six." 

"One last time boys." Noble said. 

"Five." 

"Four." 

"Three." 

"Two." 

"One." 

" _Tempest_ you are clear to depart, Gale Squad, may the Force be with you." 

With the stroke of his hand, Fix eased onto the throttle, giving the sublights a boost. They flared in response, filling the cavernous hangar with prismatic energy and a plasma blue glow. 

The overhead doors of the _Deliverance_ opened in response, with nothing but open space before them. 

The _Tempest_ glided out of the hull of the capital ship, shooting forward into the furthest reaches of Dantooine's upper atmosphere, leaving only a green celestial body looming behind them. 

"Prepare to jump to lightspeed." Fix instructed. 

Ahsoka punched in the coordinates for the Shili star system, she knew them by heart. 

With a few strokes of his index finger, the gunship's hyperdrive was primed and ready to launch. 

Fix drove the hyperspace lever forward. 

A scattered lightburst of blue-tinted solar systems drew into interstellar streamers around the cockpit as the hyperspace tunnel rose to meet them. 

Within a fraction of a second, the _Tempest_ burst to lightspeed, and disappeared. 


	25. Baradas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at Baradas, the operation begins.

**XXV**

* * * * 

Baradas -- 14 BBY 

“There it is. Baradas.” Fix said. 

A rolling green marble gyrated on its axis several hundred kilometers from their central vectors, the vast temperate rainforests blanketing the planet’s surface like an emerald bath. 

Through the viewport of the cockpit, Fix gazed on it, before diverting full power to the sublight throttle, seizing the yoke in his nimble grasp. 

In the rear of the gunship, the red passenger light illuminated itself, casting multifaceted crimson light-scatter across the six clones in the troop bay. 

All they were doing was waiting. 

Waiting to die, perhaps. Waiting to survive. No one knew. 

As the effects of realspeed became known, they shifted their weight about in nervousness, anticipating the arrival on the surface. 

Ahsoka disconnected her comlink and allowed Fix to send in the transponder codes to the control tower on the ground. 

“Imperial Communications Baradas Tower One, approaching gunship do you copy?” 

Fix worked his magic. 

“This is LAAT gunship 3224, returning from undercover operation on Mimban.” 

Mimban was Chuckles’ idea. The clone was obsessed with using it as cover for some reason, he never told the others why. 

“Why are you in this region?” 

“Fell out of hyperspace, our drive malfunctioned. We need an emergency repair and refuel, copy.” 

“What are your transponder codes?” The Imperial tower barked. 

“Punching them through now, standby.” 

Ahsoka held her breath in the copilot’s seat, as Rex took a few steps into the cockpit to see what was going on. 

Fix silenced him from making a peep, as the gunship began to descend into the upper reaches of the exosphere. 

“Hold on 3224, you aren’t clear yet, remain in the upper atmosphere.” 

“Copy.” 

Fix bit his lip in apprehension, awaiting the call that could save, or destroy them. 

Baradas’ dense atmosphere was more of a heat bath than Quermia’s, arcing forks of flames licking up at the aft hull of the _Tempest_ like a series of miniature coronal ejections. 

“3224, this is Baradas Tower. We are a small operation, only one maintenance garage. Gonna have to set her down outside of the populated zone, we’ll come to you.” 

_Perfect_. Fix thought. 

“Our codes check out, copy?” 

“A bit older, but they check out. Keep it slow on the approach to the tree line, over and out.” 

“Will do, Baradas Tower. Copy.” 

The planet’s high-level temperatures were of no issue to the gunship and its heat-resistant plating. It beared down into the first forty klicks of the planet’s atmosphere at roughly two-thirds of normal vector speed. 

Lurching downward, Chuckles grabbed the upper rail with both hands, and he peered through the transparisteel slatted windows -- a special feature, courtesy of Fix -- to find a reference point on the ground. It was difficult, with the orange embers of high-altitude fire swarming around the frame of the gunship. 

“Still a bit rough on the yoke, eh Fix?” He called up to the cockpit. 

“Don’t be such a big softy.” Came the response. He wasn’t sure if it was from Fix or Rex. 

Noble shook his head at him, grabbing the helmets from the storage rack and beginning to pass them around. 

“Rex.” He shot to the Commander. 

Rex found his way back, taking his old helmet, looking through its worn visor. 

The 501st Captain’s uniform had seen its days. Christophsis, Ryloth, Saleucami, Kamino, Mon Cala. 

_Umbara_. 

Rex had hoped this would be nothing like those days in hell. 

He would soon find out, glancing over to Wolffe, his head hidden securely inside of the white and gray helmet of the 104th Battalion. 

The two Commanders gave each other quiet nods as the gunship fell further, into the mesosphere now. 

Ahsoka came into the troop hold from the cockpit, looking Rex in the eye as he locked his helmet in place. 

Her hand found his shoulder and she reassured him without saying a word. 

“We racing to the surface again, Commander?” Rex asked. 

She sensed his smile, even beneath the helmet. 

“Not this time, old friend.” 

Ahsoka secured her lightsabers at her waist, and left her cloak on the storage rack. 

She wouldn’t be needing it down there anyway. 

“Ten klicks left!” Fix shouted. “Get ready.” 

Baradas’ single sun fell back below the horizon, not yet ready to rise for dawn, while the LAAT dove further downwards. 

Dynamo felt the sweat gripping his palms, beneath the beaten and scarred armor. He looked at Karma, who was the only one left without his helmet on. 

“Karm?” He whispered. 

“Just thinkin’ about Sala and the kids.” Karma murmured, looking to the steel deck of the gunship. 

Dynamo clapped him on the back. 

“You’re a good man, Karm. We’ll make it out of this.” He looked around to the others. “ _All_ of us.” 

Silence ensued, only the roar of the LAAT’s droning sublights could be heard, as if it were fresh from a drydock over Kuat. 

Streaking through an increasingly dark early-morning sky, Fix took a split second to admire the sweeping vistas of the cosmic night from above the majestic forests. 

0400\. They were nearly right on time. 

The high-level morning clouds buffeted the _Tempest_ as she fell further towards the expansive and balmy jungles below. Fix kept an eye on the altimeter as it spun in rapid descent. Switching on the bow-positioned searchlights, the beams of light pierced through the night like angelic whispers entering the depths of hell. 

His flying became easier with the light, as the display monitor continued to flash clear. Everything was in working order. 

_For now_. 

Fix veered right into a sprawling raincloud to avoid further conspicuous eyes from the ground, looking to set the gunship down in a small clearing, a few klicks out from the villages. Just as they had planned. 

The sliding doors on the side of the LAAT opened in response to rising oxygen levels beyond the troop hold, and the clones received their first breath of Baradas’ crisp air. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” Wolffe shouted over the deafening wind. 

A bolt of lightning curved past the ship as it fell through the night, the flash jumping across the white armor of the troopers. 

None of them even flinched. 

Near gale-force winds whipped throughout the gunship, echoing through the cockpit and back into the passenger bay. Hanging onto the passenger rails, the seven in the bay held for the coming landing. 

From his vantage point, Chuckles ogled out of the open starboard side again, this time with a better view, examining the layout of the two villages in the distance. 

He saw the four turbolaser towers, guarding the settlement from aircraft attack. Their targets. Surrounding them were hundreds of small structures, made of perhaps locally sourced materials, and Chuckles mused if they were even durable enough to withstand a thunderstorm. 

Vantu had them all living as slaves. 

Picking the towers out one by one and sizing them up, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. 

They all knew. 

Karma secured his helmet, locking it in finality, and the seven figures awaiting disembarkment in the rear hold were now prepared. 

Nothing was said. Nothing was done. 

They stood there, gripping rifles and lightsabers. Waiting. 

For the inevitable. 

The troopers’ electronic HUDs activated, springing to life -- for some, the first time in years -- and examining the others for movement. 

Each trooper took a moment to regain an old acquaintance, before refining the precision of the HUD’s scanner display. 

Wolffe adjusted his from low-light, high-weather intensity to mid-light, clear-weather. His days on Manaan were over. 

The finality of it seemed daunting. Perhaps their final mission together. 

All that was left to be done, was the landing. 

In the villages on the surface, Togruta of all shapes and sizes were awoken by a sonic boom, jarring them from their slumber, and prompting a few to step out of their front doors. 

Looking to the skies above, they pointed to a blazing comet of light, plummeting swiftly against the pre-dawn constellations like a falling star. 

Within the _Tempest_ , Fix struggled with the yoke, the spontaneous atmospheric entry had brought the ship in faster than he anticipated. The hull vibrated against the speed. 

“3224, slow your approach, you’re coming in a bit hot.” 

Fix yanked on the throttle, and the LAAT finally eased and leveled out, coming down into a hover just over a section of overgrown spruce trees at the edge of the clearing. 

Dirt and mud swirled around and carpeted the green clearing in a caked layer of sediment. The _Tempest_ found her footing as she set down gingerly on the earth beneath, engines powering down to a neutral state. 

They had landed on Baradas. 

Within the gunship’s interior, the red disembarkment light held. They remained standing, helmets angled up at it, eager for the signal. 

Just like old times. 

Fix swept his hands across the flight panels, readjusting controls and powering down internal components. Like a maestro conducting a symphony in an overly cramped orchestra hall, he did his job well. 

His index finger found the embarkment light. 

In the troop hold, the light flickered to green. 

The doors held themselves open as six pairs of white boots struck dirt. The seventh pair stepped down slowly after. 

Fix patched up the remaining controls and surged for the troop bay, grabbing the final helmet from the rack and locking it into place around his head. 

His HUD activated, and the scanner stretched across the grassy clearing as he hopped from the precipice of the gunship’s port side entry. 

The cover of night overspread them, and the westerly winds from the nearby thunderstorm allowed their footsteps to be a bit louder. 

Emerald leaves spun through the air, twisting from the gnarled branches of the swaying trees that birthed them. The towering canopy of the rainforest gave Karma a significant chance to make a difference from afar. 

All he needed was a nest. 

Gathering in a squad of eight, Ahsoka at the lead, they pushed from the clearing into the woods, against the howling gusts of wind. 

“Testing comms, everyone read me?” Came Noble’s voice through the helmet links. 

“Loud and clear.” Rex replied. “Let’s scope out this vicinity and find Karma a good overlook, once the hostiles are cleared here.” 

“There’s a bluff with decent sightlines about a klick west.” Chuckles added. “Just outside the main village. Spotted a bit of a hole in the treeline on our drop in.”  
“Good eye, Chuckles.” Noble responded. “Lay low, hang tight and watch for patrols.”  
“Are they sending a crew out to rendezvous?” Dynamo asked. 

“Yeah, not sure how many. Keep your eyes posted.” Noble called. His hand raised, and the group stopped just beyond the cover of the trees. 

Rifles at the ready, their HUDs swept the brush for movement. 

“Got four on approach, Cap.” Karma whispered. “Ten o’clock, coming in lightly hot.” 

“Rifles down boys.” Noble said. 

Karma, Dynamo, Chuckles, and Wolffe ducked behind the girth of an ancient spruce, pressed against the moss that engulfed the bark of the base. 

Fix, Noble, and Rex ducked under a brushline across the path from them, while Ahsoka crouched behind a fallen log, farther off. 

“You seen any movement?” One of the stormtroopers said, as they filed towards the LAAT, streaming past the hidden squad. 

“Saw what I thought was one, but the ship looks empty.” Came another. “Let’s check it out.” 

The four inspected the troop hold of the _Tempest_ , one finding Ahsoka’s cloak. 

“Looks like a _Jedi_ cloak.” 

“You’re daydreaming, just drop it.” Another scolded him. 

Gale Squad made its move. 

Beneath the cries of the wind, their blasters were nearly silent, and four stormtroopers fell dead. 

The plasma wounds sizzled as the bodies shrunk into the long grasses. Dynamo and Noble began hauling them off into the trees to better conceal their corpses. 

“Search them.” Wolffe urged. “Might have valuable access cards on them.”  
“Don’t see anything here.” Dynamo replied. “Check the last one, he looks like a captain.” 

Fix rummaged through the belt attachments of the fourth stormtrooper, but found nothing of note. 

“He’s dry.” Fix remarked. “Nothing.” 

Wolffe swore under his breath. 

“I was hoping to take out those towers the quiet way.” Wolffe said. 

“It’s _never_ quiet on these missions, Wolffe. You know that.” Rex joked. 

“Sometimes I like it better that way. Wanted to wrap this one up tight, though.” Wolffe called back. 

“Alright, let’s round up and push towards that hole in the trees. Karma, you still good at climbing?” Noble asked. 

“You should know me well enough to have that answer already figured out, Cap.” Karma jested, following Ahsoka back into the treeline. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Noble shrugged, following the others. Chuckles and Wolffe took up the rear, watching for spotters in the forest as they pushed inward. 

“Speeders?” Dynamo’s com crackled through their helmets. 

“So far, so good.” Fix replied. 

Stalking deeper into the foliage, a light drizzle began to fall. 

Switching their visor sensors again to adjust, the clones paced through, rifles gripped tightly within their gloves. 

“Got the first sign of something.” Karma whispered. “Twelve o’clock, about half a klick ahead, on the other side of the next treeline.” 

Rex raised his hand, the squad dropped to their knees, at level with the strands of grasses and bushes that waltzed in the breeze. 

Birds and insects chirped overhead, cicadas rang through the air. The rainforest was alive, and not just with the clones. 

“Two hostiles, patrolling at the treeline, just past it looks like a hut.” Rex said, his visor sweeping the forward positions. 

“Karma, pick your spot.” Noble said. 

Karma obliged eagerly, looking about to each of the twisting spruce and mid-latitude fir trees that adorned the landscape. Settling on a favorite, he leaped to the trunk, clawing his way to a branch about mid-way up, with decent sightlines through the canopy to the first group of huts in the distance. 

“Base of the first AA tower is dead ahead, beyond those huts. Rex is right about the hostiles, but there could be more.” 

“Risk taking on ten to kill two?” Fix asked. 

“Negative, scope it out first.” Wolffe replied. 

“That’s the better course I was considering.” Fix said, his grin could almost be heard. 

Fix and Wolffe darted off beneath the undergrowth to the squad’s nine o’clock, seeking to eye out the settlement from a better vantage point. 

“How many charge packs you got, Commander?” Dynamo asked Rex. 

“I got four on me, 500 shots each.” 

“..Two-thousand total.” Dynamo mused. “Will that be enough?” 

“Why? How many you got, trooper?” 

“I got eight.” 

“ _Eight_?” 

“That’s right.” Dynamo said. “You see my gun?” 

Rex took one glance at the trooper’s weapon, partially hidden behind a patch of grass. He knew what it was. 

“A Z6? You brought the big guns after all.” Rex teased. 

“You’re damn right.” 

“Hope you have a pistol hidden away.” 

“Always.” 

They nodded in agreement, as Karma set up his sniper’s nest a few meters above them, cradling himself on the wide branch of the spruce tree. 

The mists from the rain interfered with some of his scoped capabilities, but he wiped the sensor off with a gloved finger, keeping his primary index pressed to the hard metal of the DC-15’s trigger. He scoped out the two patrol troopers, angling the scope around the various huts, noticing a few Togrutas being ushered inside by unseen forces. 

He estimated one stormtrooper per colonist. 

Counting in his head, it came to fourteen. 

“I’m counting roughly fourteen to sixteen.” Karma estimated through the comlink. “Huts are made of an unknown substance. Looks like duracrete, maybe even pourstone.” 

“Pourstone?” Noble asked. “This world’s too wet for that.” 

“I can’t tell, Cap. It’s just stronger than we first gauged on descent. They didn’t build these homes from sticks and stones.” 

“Could be to imprison them.” 

“Better hope they didn’t lock the doors from the outside.” 

Noble shook his head in dismay, thinking of the possibility of breaking four-thousand colonists out of cramped homebound prisons. 

Fix and Wolffe positioned themselves a few meters away, Wolffe handing his counterpart a pair of expandable macrobinoculars. 

“Whaddya see, Fix?” Rex asked through the comlink. 

“Karma’s right. I’m counting sixteen. Two patrols at the treeline, fourteen through the central square, around one outside each house.” 

“Are we leaving the colonists inside until the transports show up, Cap?” Chuckles asked. 

“I’m not sure.” Noble answered. “Ahsoka?” 

“We need to free them first. Gather them where it’s safe, perhaps near the gunship. Wait for the _Deliverance_. We have barely an hour now, we need to move quickly.” Ahsoka responded. 

“You heard her boys.” Rex said. 

“Line ‘em up, Karm.” Noble urged. 

“ _Yes sir_.” 

Staring down the sights, his visor interfaced with the rifle, allowing him access to an advanced gun sight. The first stormtrooper wandered aimlessly into his scope, and the rifle hummed, eager to begin the ionization process in the barrel. 

Wolffe and Fix eyed their own shots through the drops of rain, no strangers to dueling in a downpour. 

The rest prepared to emerge from their hiding spot, on Karma’s first shot. 

“On my mark.” Karma said. 

He squeezed the trigger. 

“Mark.” 

The first stormtrooper fell limp at the treeline, a half-meter hole cratering below his ribcage. 

Wolffe and Fix fired from the far side of the brush, dropping two more troopers around the nearest house. 

Snapping to alert, the remaining thirteen stormtroopers rushed from their posts, eyeing the trees wildly, flailing in distress at the hidden shooters. 

“Rookies.” Karma muttered, squeezing the trigger again. 

The ionization of the tibanna within the rifle discharged at ludicrous speeds, propelled forward by an electromagnetic pulse as a bolt of ion plasma. 

Another bolt rang out, flaring through the smattering of spruce trees, meeting another stormtrooper square in the chest. 

Four more shots emerged from the woods, and the Imperial soldiers dropped like flies. 

Three remained, and the air fell quiet amidst the glazing drizzle. 

Imperial visors scanned the environs, only finding droplets of rain reaching the surface, and a night sky above. 

Until their vision was met with the flash of two white blades, and their world became darkness. 

With one twirl of her body, three stormtroopers fell, and Ahsoka’s handheld flames returned to her palms. 

“I still miss your old ones.” Rex commented from the trees. 

“Come on.” She ushered. “Help me.” 

Drawing on the Force, she reached within and sent a mirage of power through the air, breaking the locks on the door of each house she encountered. 

The clones filed from the forest, ramming into the doors with urgency. 

In the smallest house, Fix and Wolffe found a Togruta mother and her child, huddled in the corner, trembling uncontrollably. 

Wolffe unlocked his helmet and knelt to them, offering his hand. 

“It’s okay. We’re the good guys.” 

The child was the first to reach, against his mother’s will, and found an embrace in the clone’s arms. 

His mother watched cautiously, before deciding to leave, rather than stay. 

“They will be back.” She warned Fix. 

“We know. You need to get out of here.” 

“Where will we go?” 

“We have friends, they’re coming for you.” 

A smile flickered across her lips, and she hoisted her son over her back, running to join the others gathered outside. 

Ahsoka paced the perimeter of the first group of houses, looking beyond to the next patch of trees. She mused, finding peace within the Force. 

“There will be more.” Only a sigh escaped her. “They will be ready.” 

“Let’s get this group out.” Chuckles said. “I’ll lead them to the gunship.” 

“Good, go. _Hurry_.” Noble said, clapping him on the back. “Meet us in the next clearing, that should be the first village.” 

“Right.” 

Off he went, leading a group of maybe thirty colonists through the woods towards the _Tempest_ ’s landing site. 

“Karma, can you see through the next grove?” Dynamo asked. 

“Negative, it’s fuzzy. Gotta relocate.” 

A few seconds later, Karma trotted out from the darkness of the overgrowth, seeking a new perch in the next cluster of trees. 

“The first AA tower is up there. They have no view of the ground.” Karma pointed up to the steel structure overlooking the group of houses, before hurrying into the next patch of hemlock trees. 

“Alright, let’s move.” Rex commanded. They followed without question to the base of the tower, and up the stairs. 

Inside, two Imperial officers sat, twiddling their thumbs as their computers scanned the skies for hostile targets. None displayed. The narrow viewport was only exposed to what lay above, rather than below. 

Perfect cover. 

The door fell in a swift kick, and two bolts of plasma erupted through the dust. Two officers slumped over onto the control panel, and the tower became unoccupied. 

“Fix, can you disable the systems?” Noble asked. 

“Gimme a sec.” Fiddling with the controls, he pushed an officer to the floor and took his seat. 

Within moments, the system was disabled. 

“Alright, one down. We need to pick up the pace on the last three.” Dynamo urged. 

“Let’s push it.” Wolffe said. 

Back on the ground, Ahsoka meditated in relative peace, only the falling rain and melodies of the birds greeted her ears. 

“Commander.” 

She awoke, and turned to Rex. 

“Ready?” 

“After you.” 

Pushing out of the area, they moved into the next quadrant of trees, following Karma’s footsteps. 

“You in position, Karm?” Noble asked. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” 

“Split up, two groups, watch for buckets in the brush.” Rex said. 

Fix, Wolffe and Dynamo shot left. Ahsoka, Rex, and Noble dived to the right. 

Karma watched from his perch above. 

While the next group of trees was deeper and thicker than the last, what existed on the other side was the walled settlement of the first village. 

“Looks like the first group was just an outpost.” Fix said. 

“Looks that way, brother.” Noble replied. “This one will be the challenge.” 

“All three AA towers are set up around this village. The second village has none, but seems to be more densely populated.” 

“Label it, Karm. It’ll be simpler.” Dynamo requested. 

“Village dead ahead is Village A. Beyond that, Vill B. Can run it as Alpha and Beta if you choose.” 

Situated at the base of a soaring mountain, it appeared -- at first glance -- that the two villages were being used as mining colonies, outposts to dig up whatever it was that existed on the planet. 

“Hold up, guys. I’m eyeing two speeders coming in.” Karma alerted. 

The squad dropped, as twin speeder bikes echoed through the rain, darting like bullets into the clearing of the first outpost. Circling the area and noticing the corpses, the operators looked to each other and nodded, pushing ahead towards the landing site of the _Tempest_. 

“ _Chuckles_!” Noble whispered sharply. “Chuckles, they’re coming. Two speeders. Take care of it!” 

“Copy that.” 

At the foot of the LAAT, the group of colonists huddled for warmth and shelter from the rain. 

Within the trees, the clamorous engines of speeders grew louder. Chuckles spun on his heels and charged his rifle. 

Bringing it to his sights, he watched the treeline. 

Like clockwork, they glided from the growth at wicked speeds, but Chuckles had his shot already lined up. 

Squeezing the trigger, one fell from his bike, the machine flying in disarray across the clearing, meeting a spruce tree in a rocking explosion. 

The other bike encircled the LAAT, firing on the ship’s exterior. 

Chuckles climbed aboard the gunship and tumbled into the cockpit with a groan of pain. 

Reaching the controls, he activated the onboard cannons, and focused his eyes on the display monitor. 

The speeder came back around for another joust. 

It was no match. 

The LAAT’s cannons lit it up, and it burst into a fireball, a flash of light amidst the darkness of the early morning. 

From their position near Village A, the squads heard the echo of an explosion in the distance. 

“That’ll cause alarm.” Wolffe joked. 

“Ready, Karma?” Noble asked. 

“Ready when you are, Cap.” 

His scope found four patrol troopers outside the rear gate. 

_Flash_. 

One fell. 

_Flash. Flash_. 

Two more followed. 

The fourth aimed frantically. Karma smirked. 

“Nothing personal, pal.” 

_Flash_. The bolt sizzled through the stormtrooper’s face, and he collapsed to the dirt. 

"Gate’s clear. But they’ll be sending out a platoon, I see a gathering just within." 

“Dynamo!” Rex called. “You got the piece-together?” 

“Right here, sir.” He set down his Z6 and reached to his back, pulling out three modular weapon components from the bag on his back. “This thing was getting heavy anyways.” He discarded the bag at the edge of the clearing. 

Piecing together the components, he stood with a rocket launcher in his hands, strolling casually towards the outer wall. 

“Better hurry, Dy.” Karma said. “They’re about to come out.” 

“I got it, Karm. Just enjoy the show. Load me up, Rex.. and keep that bag handy.” 

Rex seized a missile pod from the vacated bag, and shoved it into the rear entry port of the launcher. 

“Fire away, brother.” 

With the urging of the durasteel trigger, the blowback nearly knocked Dynamo off his feet, as a rocket blasted out from the tube, whistling through the darkness to the village gate. 

In a grand fireball, the gate collapsed on impact, sending shockwaves through the village. 

“They _definitely_ know we’re here now.” Fix said, eyes lighting up in awe at the explosion. 

“Dy! Take out that second tower.” Noble said. 

“We need to save our rockets!” 

“He’s right, trooper. Use the rocket, we don’t have much time left.” Rex ordered. 

Dynamo nodded, as his brothers loaded the weapon up again. 

“Fire in the hole.” He whispered, letting another rocket loose from his grasp. 

They watched it as it arced over their heads, striking the turbolaser turret head-on, and the entire structure began to implode on itself. 

“Two down.” Wolffe said. “Two to go.” 

“Why do they build their towers _outside_ the walls?” Fix wondered aloud. 

“Imps aren’t the brightest.” Wolffe replied. 

“They’re coming out.” Karma’s voice crackled through their helmets. “The rubble of the gate. _Go._ ” 

“I see them, we need to get out of here.” Ahsoka told the clones. “We need better cover. Quickly!” 

_Flash_. 

The lead stormtrooper was blown back by the force of Karma’s bolt. A group behind him eyed the position of the shot, and began firing their own return bolts. 

In the exchange, Karma felt plasma graze his leg, and in reaction, he reached back for the wound. In the process, his balance became unsteady, and he wobbled. Trying to right himself, he lost his rifle, and then he himself fell from the tree into a heap on the ground. 

The others heard his grunts of pain through the comlink, and called for him. 

He didn’t reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go.


	26. Fire at Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the battle gets underway, new arrivals join the fray.

**XXVI**

* * * * 

Baradas -- 14 BBY 

The clones waited silently in the trees, while Karma’s comlink fell dead. 

“Fix, go get Karma.” Noble urged through the comlink. “ _Hurry_!” 

Fix dashed off into the trees, as the remaining squad charged out from the woodland, meeting the stormtroopers just outside the gate in distraction. 

“ _Chuckles_!” Noble shouted through the helmet. “ _Get over here_! _Now_!” 

“Sir! The colonists.” 

“They’re safe out there for now, instruct one of them on the turrets. We need backup.” 

“Copy.” 

In an exchange of red and blue blaster bolts, the darkened facade of the village became illuminated in a light show of riflery and marksmanship skill as the squad clashed with a full platoon of stormtroopers. 

“Take cover behind the turret!” Rex barked. 

Dynamo wobbled behind them, carrying both a Z6 and a rocket launcher in his hands. Avoiding fire, he dove behind a collapsed steel girder from the turbolaser tower, and dropped the launcher. 

“It’s time, Rex.” He said, gripping the Z6 in both hands. Noble saw the development and loaded an extra charge pack into the rear of the Z6’s body, giving his trooper an additional round of bolts. 

“ _Tell me when it’s clear_!” Dynamo shouted over the din of blaster fire. Noble and Rex suppressed the initial wave, while Ahsoka’s dual sabers ignited to deflect the rest from the base of the debris. 

Close to thirty stormtroopers paraded through the burning rubble of the village gates, raining down a hail of plasma upon the splintered squad. 

As they spread out to widen the impact of their fire, Rex noticed an opening. 

“ _Now_!” 

Dynamo stood tall, dragging the Z6 up with him, pinching the trigger indefinitely as his repeating blaster began spinning up. 

_One-two-three-four-five-six_ troopers fell in a rapid staccato as the rotating repeater unleashed a fury of ionized bolts down on the muddy white armors of the advancing stormtroopers, while Rex and Noble made an advance, climbing over the debris and opening fire again. 

“ _Push_!” Ahsoka cried, the storm of blasters drowning out her voice. Wolffe and Rex took to their pistols, splattering multiple targets with wide blaster holes, hissing with heated precision. 

Another ten troopers streamed from the blown out opening, and Noble sighed beneath his helmet. 

“I heard that!” Rex quipped. “Keep firing!” 

Emerging from the center of a pack of fresh stormtroopers was one taller than the rest, clad in a burnished red and white armor getup. 

Flashing his weapon, with a flame-lit tip, Rex noticed it was wired to a casing on the back of the trooper, via a sturdy rubber hose. 

He knew what it was before it even reached ignition. 

Scalding fire flowed from the flamethrower, torching the drizzled air as Rex found his body pressed into the mud beneath him, while the flames lapped up the air’s moisture just inches from his nose. 

_Flash_. 

A bolt cried out from the woods, and struck the trooper’s harnessed fuel tank. 

In a miniaturized explosion, he was no more. 

Chuckles stampeded from the brush, his carbine flashing in unrestrained ferocity as he screamed in bestial rage. 

A pack of four stormtroopers, hearing his arrival, retreated to cover, fearing the worst from the overcompensating clone. 

Noble helped Rex to his feet as Ahsoka pushed forward, lightsabers parrying and riposting against the red flashes of plasma from the stormtroopers’ rifles. Deflecting four bolts back to back, she drove her dominant lightsaber into the chest of one trooper, before gripping her shoto in backhand and twirling on her heels, the glimmering white blade searing its way through the neck of another. 

Their bodies dropped, and Rex caught up to her. 

“General Skywalker taught you well.” He mused. 

Ahsoka’s mind flashed to the past, to their first battle together. Christophsis. 

How things have changed. 

In the forest just beyond the village, Fix cradled Karma in his arms, scanning his body for wounds. 

“Where does it hurt?” He asked. 

“Leg.” 

Fix found the wound, and took a bacta vial from his belt bag. 

Spreading the viscous blue liquid over the wound, Karma winced in pain, groaning over the rain. 

“It’ll be alright, Karm. Just a flesh wound.” 

“Will it hurt to walk?” 

“I’ll numb it for you, just be careful, hang behind us.” 

They heard the increasing blaster fire in the distance, and after seeing Chuckles’ march through the trees, an explosion followed. 

“C’mon, they need us.” Fix helped him to his feet, and together they found the nearest opening in the treeline, looking for the rest of the squad. 

They located them, just outside the main gate. 

“ _Push forward_!” Wolffe bellowed, beckoning the others forward as they dove after Ahsoka’s lead. 

Her movements were fluid, as graceful as a dancer. Pirouettes and gyrating flows brought her saber to bear against trooper after trooper. The bolts bounced from the white flame, kicking up mud and sighing in extinguishment. 

Fix and Karma caught up, limping with each other. 

“How is he?” Noble asked, grabbing Karma by the shoulders. 

“He’ll live, give him a few to walk it off.” Fix said. 

“Boys, the next tower is on the other side of the gate. We need to breach it while we can!” Dynamo called out. 

“Where’s the rocket launcher?” Karma asked. 

“I pieced it back together. Gotta carry it somehow.” Dynamo smirked. 

“Let’s move!” Rex said. 

Noble and Chuckles shot the last two troopers dead, just outside the gate. 

“Stormtroopers. Amateurs.” Chuckles said, kicking one on the ground as he passed. 

“They can’t hit a damn shot.” Wolffe replied. “Shame.” 

“Forgive them in death. They were not bred for war as you were. This life was chosen, because they were convinced they could make a difference.” Ahsoka murmured, as they stepped through the smoldering ruins of -- what was -- the village’s main gate. 

At least forty houses were gathered tightly within the walls. Not much stirred, besides the rain puddling within the grass and mud. The colonists were presumably all locked away. 

Another gate at the opposite end of the village led to Village B, and the Imperial Garrison. 

“That wasn’t the last of them.” Noble said warily. We need to take those towers down and start banging on doors.” 

Dynamo began piecing his rocket launcher back together, finding a target just ahead, over the main square of the village. 

“Woah, woah. Dy. Hold up.” Fix said. “Collateral damage. Could collapse on some homes.” 

“He’s right,” Ahsoka began. “Too risky. Take it out the hard way.” 

Rex and Noble obliged, clearing entire flights of stairs in seconds to reach the top of the turbolaser tower. 

A few moments passed. Silence. 

Two blasters were heard echoing throughout the village. 

They stepped out, hands raised and thumbs up. 

“Three down.” Karma said. 

“One to go.” Dynamo replied. “It’s just beyond the next gate, between the village and the garrison.” 

“Start gathering up the colonists!” Ahsoka urged. “Dynamo, you and Rex go take care of that last tower. I sense daybreak is coming soon.” 

Above them, thunder rolled ominously, but the rain was tapering off. The brief thundershower was common in Baradas’ long, humid summers, especially in the conflicting air masses of the early morning. 

As the clouds were breaking from the spontaneous downburst, a few lingering stars hung low in the sky. Within minutes, the first aching rays of sunlight began piercing through the western reaches of the forest. 

Gathering their equipment at the unbroken rear gate, Rex and Dynamo prepared to piece together the launcher again. 

Looming just beside the final turbolaser tower, between the two largest villages, was the growing shadow of the Imperial Garrison. 

“ _Hurry up Rex_.” Dynamo urged. “Load it up.” The rocket launcher found a home on Dynamo’s shoulder again. 

_Bang_. 

Rex and Dynamo looked at each other. 

Just ahead of their position, pounding against the ground, was the mechanical assemblage of a bipedal monstrosity. 

_Bang_. 

Rising from the other side of the fourth tower was a nightmare they had hoped to avoid. 

“ _Imperial Walker at village midpoint_!” Dynamo screamed into his helmet. 

The entire village was awake in seconds. 

The two clones dove behind a hut, which was soon blasted to smithereens. 

“ _NO_!” Noble bellowed. “ _There are people in there, get out of there!!”_

Blasting through the exterior wall like crumpled paper, the AT-ST stomped its way through the muddy terrain, the head of the walker fixating on the two lonely clones. 

Rex grabbed Dynamo and threw him forward, as the next blast came with haste. 

Dynamo avoided the bulk of the blast, but Rex’s body was struck with the debris, and was flung across the south side of the village, through the transparisteel window of a house. 

“ _Rex_!” Ahsoka’s voice amplified across the setting. 

The walker halted its advance and turned to meet the white blades of a Jedi. 

Crackling through the comlinks of the clones’ helmets, they heard the scattered static of a transmission. 

“Gale Squad, _do you copy_? This is _Deliverance_ Captain Qar, over. Launching the first convoy to the surface.” 

“ _No_.” Noble whispered. His eyes -- and the eyes of the rest -- found the skies. 

A white and red capital ship was hovering in high orbit, barely a blip in the pink morning. 

Descending through the atmosphere just below the _Deliverance_ were three fiery missiles, falling like fingers of god from heaven itself. 

The first transport and two A-Wing supports had been launched. 

“ _The tower isn’t down_!” Noble shouted. “ _Somebody grab that rocket launcher_!” 

Meters away, face down in the mud, was the outline of the launcher. 

The turbolaser tower swiveled on its axis to snatch a new target: the vessels diving to the surface. 

An angry AT-ST stepped to the left and had a direct lock on Ahsoka, who now stood directly before it. 

Noble did the only thing he could. 

He dashed for the rocket launcher. 

“ _Deliverance_ , this is Gale Squad, _recall transport now_!” Wolffe barked into the comlink. “I repeat, _call off the transport_ , we have one tower still online!” 

Noble slid into the mud beneath the walker, his visor fogging up from particulate. He found the launcher in his hands, partially loaded. 

Reaching around for the fallen rocket, he was having trouble. 

Above him, the AT-ST primed itself to fire on the Jedi. 

Calling upon the Force, she reached into the sky as a laser bolt reached the surface, leaving a mud-caked crater in the dirt. 

The walker stood silent, its drivers searching for their target through the twin eye viewports in a flurry of panic. 

They heard boots land on the roof. 

Below, Noble gripped the mud, pulling up only dripping wet piles of dirt and grass. 

Reaching around further, he saw the rocket lying alone. Crawling to it, he looked up and saw the transport growing closer to the surface. 

“ _Call it off_!” Wolffe ordered into his com. “ _Deliverance! There is one tower still active! Call it off!_ ” 

Seizing the rocket from the ground, Noble thrusted it into the rocket tube and waited for the green light. 

Landing inside the pilot hold of the AT-ST, Ahsoka’s saber found the hearts of two operators, and she took to the controls herself. 

The turbolaser tower swiveled further, looking for a lock-on. It began firing madly into the sky, with massive ion _booms_ scattering the hydrogen and oxygen molecules of the troposphere in clouds of green and black smoke, throwing one of the A-Wings out of descent, which spiraled into the canopy of trees with an erupting flame. 

The rocket launcher’s light was still red. Mud was gathered inside the launch tube. 

Noble cursed to himself, slamming his fist into the launcher. 

Two plasma bolts fired over his head, meeting the final tower head-on. 

All that remained of the turbolaser was a smoking pulp of twisted metal and durasteel. 

Ahsoka hopped to the ground from the walker, just as the rocket launcher’s light turned green. 

Noble looked up at her. She smiled. 

“It’s okay, Captain.” She helped him to his feet. “Use it on the walker, so that the Imperials can’t operate it against us.” 

He sighed, nodding to her as he blinked slowly in exhaustion. 

Squeezing the trigger, the walker collapsed into a fireball in front of them, only two legs remained standing idly. 

Noble followed Ahsoka to Rex and Dynamo’s position, as the first evacuations began. 

“ _Deliverance_ , belay that order. The first group is to be picked up at _Tempest_ landing site, copy.” Wolffe said through the com, sighing. 

“Gale Squad, copy that. Commencing first pickup.” The surviving A-Wing pilot piped up. “ _Deliverance_ couldn’t order us away mid-atmosphere, it’d break up our hulls if we tried.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Wolffe replied slowly. “But we lost one already.” He gazed across the village to the stream of smoke and fire in the forest. 

Inside the broken hut, Ahsoka found Rex splayed out on the floor. Two Togruta children were tending to some cuts around the base of his neck, where the helmet locked into place. 

An elder Togruta approached her, speaking her native tongue. 

“ _He will be fine. Just minor bruises. Your strength is in him, Jedi. You bring honor to your people. Thank you, all of you_.” 

She bowed before the elder, having Noble escort the civilians out of the building safely. Kneeling before Rex, her finger found his skin, wiping away the dried blood from a glass cut. 

Outside, the sun was gaining altitude as the morning wore on. Scattered solar rays did battle in the skies with the fleeting thunderclouds, allowing some traces of morning light to reach the surface. 

0600\. 

“Bring the transports down in the village square, we’ll organize ‘em into groups.” Fix’s voice spoke through the comlink. 

“Right away.” The pilot replied, as the first transport soared up over the trees, and secured a landing zone near the charred carcass of the AT-ST. 

Fix cleared the LZ and signaled the vessel down slowly. Nearly forty colonists were already onboard, and the transport pilot exited the cockpit. 

“How’s my gunship looking?” Fix asked eagerly. 

“She’s fine, just a few scrapes of paint.” The pilot was a youthful boy, perhaps fresh out of the academy. 

“ _Scrapes_?” 

“I’m not a professional, sir. I mostly fly speeders to spray crops over my father’s field. This is new for me.” 

“You went from flying a crop dusting speeder to a four-hundred capacity transport overnight?” Fix asked hesitantly. 

“The call went out for volunteers, sir. I’m doing my part.” 

Fix nodded, not finding any reason to blame the boy, who appeared barely eighteen. He patted him on the shoulder and walked past, finding Wolffe near the transport’s loading bay, ushering in a crowd of Togruta. They all tried to thank him individually as they climbed up the loading ramp, but he continued pointing them in the direction of the transport’s passenger bay. 

“Gale Squad, this is _Deliverance_ Captain Qar, do you copy?” The clones’ comlinks sputtered. 

“Read you loud and clear, Captain. What’s the situation up top?” Wolffe inquired. 

“It appears we have company. Take a look for yourself.” 

The surface team peered up into the atmosphere, and noticed a second capital ship had entered the system, facing _Deliverance_. 

“Fix!” Noble communicated. “Whaddya see, I’m occupied.” 

“You’re not gonna like it, Cap. But it’s what we expected.” 

“Already? It’s only 0600.” 

“Time waits for no man.” Wolffe entered the conversation. “It looks like someone sent the distress call to her, and she came as quickly as she could.” 

“With the second transport barely in departure stages, we need to pick up the pace, or we’ll all be toasted corpses down here.” Chuckles interjected. 

“Yeah, this isn’t good.” Fix said. “ _Deliverance_ Captain Qar, can we get a quicker departure on those transports? Prepare them all for launch, we can’t afford to wait for a one by one approach. 

“Copy, Gale Squad. I’ll do what I can.” The gruff, stately voice of Captain Qar spoke through the comlink channel. 

“Did she bring her flagship?” Noble asked Fix. 

Fix looked skyward again, inspecting the recently arrived capital ship. 

It was wedge-shaped, boasting the iconic structure of a Venator Star Destroyer. Lacking the significant red color of the _Deliverance_ , the steel gray and black reminded them all that the real battle was about to begin. 

The _Prosecutor_ had arrived. 

“She did.” Fix whispered. 

* * * * 

One-hundred kilometers above the surface, in the blackness of space, the _Prosecutor_ reverted to realspeed. 

From the main bridge, Moff Vantu’s imposing figure stood against the transparisteel. Her eyes wandered from the viewport to the planet’s continents below. 

“Status report.” Vantu ordered. 

She looked incredibly annoyed at the unfolding situation, but nonetheless had expected it to transpire, in some shape or form. 

A lieutenant at a computer panel offered an update. 

“One Venator-class, eighty-kilometers from our updated vector, in high altitude orbit. Callsign designates it as the _Deliverance_. Two Republic-era cruisers banking on their axes, coming around from behind our position.” 

The _Deliverance_. Moff Vantu knew the ship well. It had served as part of Kenobi’s Open Circle Fleet during the war. Cleaning up numerous engagements against the Separatists, it was thought lost at Sicemon. 

Turns out, the old beast of war had resurfaced, scars still adorning her hull. 

She was not unlike the _Prosecutor_. 

“And on the _surface_?” Vantu asked. 

“One team. Appears to be made up of clones, led by a single Jedi. Sources count eight” 

“Why haven’t they been put down yet?” 

“They’ve been putting _our_ forces down, instead.” The officer muttered. “Sir.” 

Vantu sighed, waving her hand. 

Captain Mahfe approached from the turbolift. 

“Is it under control, Moff Vantu?” He asked. 

“Does it _look_ under control, Mahfe?” 

“Well, it doesn’t sound so, no sir.” 

“Deploy them.” She commanded. 

“Deploy--..?” 

“The Purges. Get me a direct link to Cody’s helmet com. Keep it active during descent.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Mahfe moved to a nearby computer, displacing an officer, and made it happen. 

“What about the oncoming ships sir?” The other officer asked her. 

“Bank on the central axis, swivel the ship perpendicular to the planet. Starboard batteries focus on the _Deliverance_ , port batteries on the cruisers. We’ll make short work of them.” 

“The _Deliverance_ is launching transports, sir.” 

“Let them. They won’t be leaving this system.” 

“You’d let the prisoners die?” 

“To teach the sector a lesson? Absolutely. We can find others who can do what the Togruta have started.” She said slowly. “Keep our batteries hot.” 

“Yes sir.” 

She watched as a Lambda shuttle ascended from the hangar bay, far below the bridge. It banked left and curved down towards the planet. 

“Coms online?” Vantu asked again. 

“Yes sir. Cody’s standing by.” 

“Cody.” She spoke into her panel receptor. 

His voice came through as a garbled transmission, atmospheric interference scrambling the frequency. 

“Moff.” 

“You will do what is necessary, won’t you?” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“The main focus is the Jedi. Understood? Do not let your old allies get the better of you.” 

“Your will be done, sir.” 

The transmission faded into static. 

* * * * 

“She’s banking, sir!” 

Atop the bridge of the _Deliverance_ , Captain Rulius Qar stood locked in place. 

A single old captain against the might of the Empire’s war machine. 

His eyes locked directly with the _Prosecutor_ ’s bridge. 

Qar, a stout elderly man with flushed cheeks and steely gray eyes, was adorned in his traditional Republic military uniform, cap and all. 

He was determined to honor the old way. 

A veteran of the Clone Wars, he had once led a ship across the galaxy in the name of democracy and peace. Christophsis. Sullust. Second Geonosis. Ringo Vinda. Scipio. Anaxes. Coruscant. Utapau. 

Now Baradas. 

“Get the antifighters fired up!” He barked. 

From the hull of the _Deliverance_ , forty antifighter cannons rose from their hiding places along the superstructure. They angled forward, starboard, and port. 

“On your order, sir.” One of the bridge officers said. 

“Wait for her to get a bit closer.” 

His eyes wandered, finding the oncoming cruisers from the opposite side of Baradas’ orbit, seeking to flank the _Prosecutor_ in a high-orbit chokehold. 

But she had prepared. 

“Those cruisers are going to be ripped apart if she banks. _Recall them now_!” He ordered. 

A single officer at the communications panel glided his hands across the controls, shouting commands into the comlink from across empty space. 

Qar watched. 

He waited. 

The cruisers relented, but not in time. 

From the port side of the _Prosecutor_ , her particle beam generators and heavy cannons began their onslaught. 

Pounding the cruisers with laserfire, the first fell crippled in midspace, floating adrift as its sublight engines failed. 

The second put up a more valiant fight, dual cannons blazing towards the gray Venator. 

But to no avail. 

Her shields were far too strong. One tread of the particle beam, and the ship was cleaved in two, with dozens of personnel spilling out into the cold darkness, still alive. 

Qar winced, balling his fist. 

“She’s not getting any closer to us on the axis bank, sir.” 

“Begin your fire salvos.” Qar murmured. 

The reflections of his eyes lit up like a revelry of fireworks as the antifighter cannons slammed open space with their flak spray. A massive wall of antifighter clouds filled the vacuum between _Deliverance_ and _Prosecutor_ , with more rising from the port side. 

“How long do we hold, sir?” 

Qar mused, rubbing his chin, as he watched the tenth and final transport depart from the hangar bay towards the surface. An A-Wing escort guided the line of ships down through the atmosphere, torching themselves from the high speeds. 

After they were far enough away, the flak clouds filled in on the starboard side in their place. 

“Until every last soul is back aboard this vessel.” 

* * * * 

“Both cruisers have been disabled, Moff.” 

“Excellent. Focus our attention on _Deliverance_. Can we broadside?” The Moff asked. 

“Not directly. He’s putting up a flak shield.” 

“A _flak shield_? Highly dangerous when he has transports.” Vantu wondered aloud. “He must be desperate.” 

“The flak is interfering with our targeting systems, sir. We can’t get our particles or cannons through.” 

“A particle beam could cut through anything. Do your best. If not, prepare squadrons.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

Mahfe took a few paces forward, towards the bridge’s final reach. 

“Moff? Shall I take command for you?” 

She turned to face him, a frigid confusion echoed across her face. 

“Take command _now_? Would you like our ship to be _destroyed_ , Mahfe?” 

He backed down, his features contorting into almost uncontrollable embarrassment. 

She got the reaction she wanted from him, and returned to her position. 

Mahfe retreated down to the comms station, watching the Moff carefully, as he took the reins of the controls and pushed the officer away. 

“Moff Vantu! Another ship coming out of hyperspace.” 

“What is it?” 

“Small. It’s a shuttle. Bit on the rusty side.” 

Vantu craned her head to get a decent look at the approaching craft, which slipped through the vacuum between the _Prosecutor_ ’s hull and the _Deliverance_ ’s flak shield. 

“Shall I fire, sir?” The weapons officer asked. 

Her eyes followed the shuttle as it slowly entered the atmosphere. 

“Sir?” 

“Hold. Let’s see what it’s doing.” 

“It has no transponder. No Imperial codes. No older Republic codes. Nothing.” 

“It could be valuable to those on the surface. Allow it to pass for now. We’ll deal with it later.” 

A message pulsed from her control panel. She let it through. 

“Moff Vantu,” came Cody’s commanding voice. 

“Cody. Have you made contact?” 

“We’re in the landing procedure now, one klick outside the villages.” 

“Very good. Remember what I told you. _Understood_?” 

“Understood, sir.” 

“Take no prisoners.” 

He didn’t respond, and instead the communications channel went dark as the troopers entered combat mode. 

From her perch, Moff Vantu had an incredible view of the unfolding scene. She never once lost her composure, her heart never skipped a beat, and her breath never needed to catch itself. 

As always, _she_ was in control. 

At least, for now. 


End file.
